THE 


TLE 


'  =5-  •  *  I  Si 


g>anta  Barbara  §>tate 


Citft  o 


SANTA  BARBARA  STATE  COLLEGE  LIBRAK 


f] 


ntleman's  Xibran? 


o  ce 

Dog-es,  ters 

Men  of  l^^scfs 


MR 

PANORAMA  FROM  THE  CAMPANILE   OF  ST.  MARK 

Embellish- 

•  mitt 


he  ne  afana, 
veoe. : 


• 

L  AND  BAKER 


Gentleman's 


THE 

Makers  of  Venice 

Doges,  Conquerors,  Painters 

AND 

Men  of  Letters 


MRS.  OL1PHANT 

Author  of  '  Makers  of  Florence,'  '  Royal  Edinburgh,'  etc. 
Embellished  with  Etchings  and  Photogravures 


Sia  benedeta  sta  Venezia  mia 

E  sto  popolo  quieto,  alegro  e  san. 

Me  sento  un  vodo  in  cuor  se  stago  via. 

Sento  el  solito  mal  de  1'isolan 
Benedeto  Samarco  e  le  putele 

Che  zira  in  piazza  a  ingelosir  le  stele, 
Benedeto  el  sirocco  che  ne  afana, 

E  la  nostra  fiacona  veneziana. 

Rime  Veneziane-Sarfatti. 


New  York 

MERRILL  AND  BAKER 

Publishers 


The  edition  of  this  volume  is  limited  to  450 
numbered  and  26  special  lettered  copies  this  one 
being  number  ffr~) 


MERRILL   AND   BAKER. 


P7 


TO 

ELIZABETH,  LADY   CLONCURRY, 

AND 

EMMA  FITZMAURICE, 

KIND     AND     DEAR     COMPANIONS 

OF  MANY  A  VENETIAN  RAMBLE, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED 


:  \  BARBARA  STATE  COLLEGE  L1BRAK 


CONTENTS. 


PART  I. 

THE  DOGES. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    THE  ORSEOLI,           i 

II.    THE  MICHIELI, 27 

III.     ENRICO  DANDOLO, 49 

IV.     PIETRO   GRADENIGO  :   CHANGE   OF  THE   CONSTITUTION,  72 

V.    THE  DOGES  DISGRACED,            96 

PART  II. 
BY  SEA  AND  LAND. 

I.    THE  TRAVELERS:  NICCOLO,  MATTEO,  AND  MARCO  POLO,  114 

II.    A  POPULAR  HERO, 135 

III.  SOLDIERS  OF  FORTUNE  :  CARMAGNOLA,         .        .        .  170 

IV.  BARTOLOMMEO  COLLEONI, 208 

PART  III. 
THE  PAINTERS. 

I.    THE  THREE  EARLY  MASTERS, 219 

II.    THE  SECOND  GENERATION, 243 

III.    TINTORETTO 271 

PART  IV. 
MEN  OF  LETTERS. 

I.    THE  GUEST  OF  VENICE, 286 

II.    THE  HISTORIANS, 305 

III.    ALDUS  AND  THE  ALDINES, 331 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Panorama  from  Campanile  of  St.  Mark           .  .  .       Frontispiece 

Cathedral  of  San  Marco            .....  Page      6 

Piazza  of  St.  Mark        .             .             .             .  .  "31 

Interior  of  San  Marco,  Entrance  to  the  Choir  .  .  "56 

Bridge  of  the  Rialto      .             .             .             .  .  .  "82 

Court  of  Ducal  Palace,  Giant's  Staircase          .  .  .  "     102 

A  Canal  Scene,  Venice             .             .             .  .  .  "     122 

Santa  Maria  della  Salute           .             .             .  .  .  "     160 

Molo  of  San  Marco,  Columns  of  Execution     .  .  .  "     206 

Campanile  of  Si.  Mark              .             .             .  .  .  "     228 

Bridge  of  Sighs               .             .             .             .  ,  .  "     274 

The  Piazetta,  Ducal  Palace,  San  Marco          .  .  .  "     336 


INTRODUCTION. 


VENICE  has  long  borne  in  the  imagination  of  the  world 
a  distinctive  position,  something  of  the  character  of  a 
great  enchantress,  a  magician  of  the  seas.  Her  growth 
between  the  water  and  the  sky;  her  great  palaces,  solid 
and  splendid,  built,  so  to  speak,  on  nothing;  the  wonder- 
ful glory  of  light  and  reflection  about  her;  the  glimmer 
of  incessant  brightness  and  movement;  the  absence  of 
all  those  harsh,  artificial  sounds  which  vex  the  air  in 
other  towns,  but  which  in  her  are  replaced  by  harmonies 
of  human  voices,  and  by  the  liquid  tinkle  of  the  waves — 
all  these  unusual  characteristics  combine  to  make  her  a 
wonder  and  a  prodigy.  While  there  are  scarcely  any  who 
are  unmoved  by  her  special  charm,  there  are  some  who 
are  entirely  subdued  by  it,  to  whom  the  sight  of  her  is  a 
continual  enchantment,  and  who  never  get  beyond  the 
sense  of  something  miraculous,  the  rapture  of  the  first 
vision.  Not  only  does  she  "shine  where  she  stands," 
which  even  the  poorest  clusters  of  human  habitations 
will  do  in  the  light  of  love;  but  all  those  walls,  with  the 
mist  of  ages  like  a  bloom  of  eternal  youth  upon  them — 
all  those  delicate  pinnacles  and  carven  stones,  the  arches 
and  the  pillars  and  the  balconies,  the  fretted  outlines 
that  strike  against  the  sky — shine,  too,  as  with  a  light 
within  that  radiates  into  the  clear  sea  air;  and  every 
ripple  on  the  great  water-way,  and  every  wave  on  the 
lagoon,  and  each  little  rivulet  of  a  canal,  like  a  line  of 
light  between  the  piles  of  masonry,  which  are  themselves 
built  of  pearl  and  tints  of  ocean  shells,  shines,  too,  with 
an  ever-varied,  fantastic,  enchanting  glimmer  of  respon- 
sive brightness.  In  the  light  of  summer  mornings,  in 
the  glow  of  winter  sunsets,  Venice  stands  out  upon  the 
blue  background,  the  sea  that  brims  upward  to  her  very 
doors,  the  sky  that  sweeps  in  widening  circles  all  around, 
radiant  with  an  answering  tone  of  light.  She  is  all 
wonder,  enchantment,  the  brightness  and  the  glory  of  a 
dream.  Her  own  children  cannot  enough  paint  her, 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

praise  her,  celebrate  her  splendors;  and  to  outdo,  if  pos- 
sible, that  patriotic  enthusiasm  has  been  the  effort  of  many 
a  stranger  from  afar. 

When  the  present  writer  ventured  to  put  upon  record 
some  of  the  impressions  which  mediaeval  Florence  has 
left  upon  history,  in  the  lives  and  deeds  of  great  men, 
the  work  was  comparatively  an  easy  one — for  Florence 
is  a  city  full  of  shadows  of  the  great  figures  of  the  past. 
The  traveler  cannot  pass  along  her  streets  without  tread- 
ing in  the  very  traces  of  Dante,  without  stepping  upon 
soil  made  memorable  by  footprints  never  to  be  effaced. 
We  meet  them  in  the  crowded  ways — the  cheerful  painters 
singing  at  their  work,  the  prophet-monk  going  to  torture 
and  execution,  the  wild  gallants  with  their  Carnival 
ditties,  the  crafty  and  splendid  statesman  who  subjugated 
the  fierce  republic.  Faces  start  out  from  the  crowd 
wherever  we  turn  our  eyes.  The  greatness  of  the  sur- 
roundings, the  palaces,  churches,  frowning  mediaeval 
castles  in  the  midst  of  the  city,  are  all  thrown  into  the 
background  by  the  greatness,  the  individuality,  the  liv- 
ing power  and  vigor  of  the  men  who  are  their  originators, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  their  inspiring  soul. 

But  when  we  turn  to  Venice  the  effect  is  very  different. 
After  the  bewitchment  of  the  first  vision,  a  chill  falls 
upon  the  inquirer.  Where  is  the  poet,  where  the 
prophet,  the  princes,  the  scholars,  the  men  whom,  could 
we  see,  we  should  recognize  wherever  we  met  them, 
with  whom  the  whole  world  is  acquainted?  They  are 
not  here.  In  the  sunshine  of  the  Piazza,  in  the  glorious 
gloom  of  San  Marco,  in  the  great  council  chambers  and 
offices  of  state,  once  so  full  of  busy  statesmen  and 
great  interests,  there  is  scarcely  a  figure  recognizable 
of  all,  to  be  met  with  in  the  spirit — no  one  whom  we 
look  for  as  we  walk,  whose  individual  footsteps  are 
traceable  wherever  we  turn.  Instead  of  the  men  who 
made  her  what  she  is,  who  ruled  her  with  so  high  a  hand, 
who  filled  her  archives  with  the  most  detailed  narratives, 
and  gleaned  throughout  the  world  every  particular  of 
universal  history  which  could  enlighten  and  guide  her, 
we  find  everywhere  the  great  image — an  idealization 
more  wonderful  than  any  in  poetry — of  Venice  herself, 
the  crowned  and  reigning  city,  the  center  of  all  their 
aspirations,  the  mistress  of  their  affections,  for  whom 


INTRODUCTION.  IX 

those  haughty  patricians  of  an  older  day,  with  a  proud 
self-abnegation  which  has  no  humility  or  sacrifice  in  it, 
effaced  themselves,  thinking  of  nothing  but  her  glory. 
It  is  a  singular  tribute  to  pay  to  any  race,  especially  to  a 
race  so  strong,  so  full  of  life  and  energy,  loving  power, 
luxury,  and  pleasantness  as  few  other  races  have  done; 
yet  it  is  true.  When  Byron  swept  with  superficial,  yet 
brilliant  eyes,  the  roll  of  Venetian  history,  what  did  he 
find  for  the  uses  of  his  verse?  Nothing  but  two  old  men, 
one  condemned  for  his  own  fault,  the  other  for  his  son's, 
remarkable  chiefly  for  their  misfortunes — symbols  of  the 
wrath  and  the  feebleness  of  age,  and  of  ingratitude  and 
bitter  fate.  This  was  all  which  the  rapid  observer  could 
find  in  the  story  of  a  power  which  was  once  supreme 
in  the  seas,  the  arbiter  of  peace  and  war  through  all 
the  difficult  and  dangerous  East,  the  first  defender  of 
Christendom  against  the  Turk,  the  first  merchant,  banker, 
carrier,  whose  emissaries  were  busy  in  all  the  councils 
and  all  the  markets  of  the  world.  In  her  records  the 
city  is  everything — the  republic,  the  worshiped  ideal 
of  a  community  in  which  every  man  for  the  common 
glory  seems  to  have  been  willing  to  sink  his  own.  Her 
sons  toiled  for  her,  each  in  his  vocation,  not  without 
personal  glory,  far  from  indifferent  to  personal  gain,  yet 
determined  above  all  that  Venice  should  be  great,  that 
she  should  be  beautiful  above  all  the  thoughts  of  other 
races,  that  her  power  and  her  splendor  should  outdo 
every  rival.  The  impression  grows  upon  the  student, 
whether  he  penetrates  no  further  than  the  doorways  of 
those  endless  collections  of  historic  documents  which 
make  the  archives  of  Venice  important  to  all  the  world, 
and  in  which  lie  the  records  of  immeasurable  toil,  the 
investigations  of  a  succession  of  the  keenest  observers, 
the  most  subtle  politicians  and  statesmen;  or  whether  he 
endeavors  to  trace  more  closely  the  growth  and  develop- 
ment of  the  republic,  the  extension  of  her  rule,  the  per- 
fection of  her  economy.  In  all  of  these,  men  of  the 
noblest  talents,  the  most  intense  vigor  and  energy,  have 
labored.  The  records  give  forth  the  very  hum  of  a 
crowd;  they  glow  with  life,  with  ambition,  with  strength, 
with  every  virile  and  potent  quality;  but  all  directed  to 
one  aim.  Venice  is  the  outcome — not  great  names  of 
individual  men. 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

The  Tuscans  also  loved  their  great  and  beautiful  city, 
but  they  loved  her  after  a  different  sort.  Perhaps  the 
absence  of  all  those  outlets  to  the  seas  and  traffic  with 
the  wider  world  which  molded  Venetian  character  gave 
the  strain  of  a  more  violent  personality  and  fiercer  pas- 
sions to  their  blood.  They  loved  their  Florence  for 
themselves,  desiring  an  absolute  sway  over  her,  and  to 
make  her  their  own — unable  to  tolerate  any  rivalry  in 
respect  to  her,  turning  out  upon  the  world  every  com- 
petitor, fighting  to  be  first  in  the  city,  whatever  might 
happen.  The  Venetians,  with  what  seems  a  finer  pur- 
pose in  a  race  less  grave,  put  Venice  first  in  everything. 
Few  were  the  fuori-usciti,  the  political  exiles,  sent  out 
from  the  city  of  the  sea.  Now  and  then  a  general  who 
had  lost  a  battle — in  order  that  all  generals  might  be 
thus  sharply  reminded  that  the  republic  tolerated  no 
failures — would  be  thrust  forth  into  the  wilderness  of 
that  dark  world  which  was  not  Venice,  but  no  feud  so 
great  as  that  which  banished  Dante  ever  tore  the  city 
asunder,  no  such  vicissitudes  of  sway  ever  tormented 
her  peace.  A  grand  and  steady  aim,  never  abandoned, 
never  even  lost  sight  of,  runs  through  every  page  of  her 
story  as  long  as  it  remains  the  story  of  a  living  and 
independent  power. 

Perhaps  the  comparative  equality  of  the  great  houses 
which  figure  on  the  pages  of  the  Golden  Book  of  Venice 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  this  result.  Their 
continual  poise  and  balance  of  power,  and  all  the  wonder- 
ful system  of  checks  and  restraints  so  skillfully  combined 
to  prevent  all  possibility  of  the  predominance  of  one 
family  over  the  other,  would  thus  have  attained  a  success 
which  suspicion  and  jealousy  have  seldom  secured,  and 
which,  perhaps,  may  be  allowed  to  obliterate  the  memory 
of  such  sentiments,  and  make  us  think  of  them  as  wisdom 
and  honorable  care.  As  in  most  human  affairs,  no  doubt 
both  the  greater  and  the  lesser  motives  were  present, 
and  the  determination  of  each  man  that  his  neighbor 
should  have  no  chance  of  stepping  on  to  a  higher  level 
than  himself,  combined  with,  and  gave  a  keen  edge  of 
personal  feeling  to,  his  conviction  of  the  advantages  of 
the  oligarchical-democratic  government  which  suited  the 
genius  of  the  people  and  made  the  republic  so  great. 
Among  the  Contarinis,  Morosinis,  Tiepolos,  Dandolos, 


INTRODUCTION.  XI 

the  Cornars  and  Loredans,  and  a  host  of  others  whose 
names  recur  with  endless  persistency  from  first  to  last 
through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  national  career,  alter- 
nating in  all  the  highest  offices  of  state,  there  was  none 
which  was  ever  permitted  to  elevate  itself  permanently, 
or  come  within  sight  of  a  supreme  position.  They  kept 
each  other  down,  even  while  raising  each  other  to  the 
fullness  of  an  aristocratic  sway  which  has  never  been 
equaled  in  Christendom.  And  the  ambition  which  could 
never  hope  for  such  predominance  as  the  Medici,  the 
Visconti,  the  Scaligeri  attained  in  their  respective  cities, 
was  thus  entirely  devoted  to  the  advancement  of  the  com- 
munity, the  greater  power  and  glory  of  the  state.  What 
no  man  could  secure  for  himself  or  his  own  house,  all 
men  could  do,  securing  their  share  in  the  benefit,  for 
Venice.  And  in  generous  minds  this  ambition,  taking  a 
finer  flight  than  is  possible  when  personal  aggrandize- 
ment lies  at  the  heart  of  the  effort,  became  a  passion — 
the  inspiring  principle  of  the  race.  For  this  they  coursed 
the  seas,  quenching  the  pirate  tribes  that  threatened 
their  trade,  less  laudably  seizing  the  towns  of  the  coast, 
the  islands  of  the  sea  which  interfered  with  their  access 
to  their  markets  in  the  East.  For  this  they  carried  fire 
and  flame  to  the  mainland,  and  snatched  from  amid  the 
fertile  fields  the  supremacy  of  Padua  and  Treviso,  and 
many  a  landward  city,  making  their  seaborn  nest  into  the 
governing  head  of  a  great  province;  an  object  which  was 
impersonal,  giving  license  as  well  as  force  to  their  pur- 
pose, and  relieving  their  consciences  from  the  guilt  of 
turning  Crusades  and  missionary  enterprises  alike  into 
wars  of  conquest.  Whatever  their  tyrannies,  as  whatever 
their  hard-won  glories  might  be,  they  were  all  for  Venice, 
and  only  in  a  secondary  and  subsidiary  sense  for  them- 
selves. 

The  same  principle  has  checked,  in  other  ways,  that 
flow  of  individual  story  with  which  Florence  has  enriched 
the  records  of  the  world.  Nature  at  first,  no  doubt,  must 
bear  the  blame,  who  gave  no  Dante  to  the  state  which 
perhaps  might  have  prized  him  more  highly  than  his  own; 
but  the  same  paramount  attraction  of  the  idealized  and 
sovereign  city,  in  which  lay  all  their  pride,  turned  the 
early  writers  of  Venice  into  chroniclers,  historians, 
diarists,  occupied  in  collecting  and  recording  everything 


Xll  INTRODUCTION. 

that  concerned  their  city,  and  indifferent  to  individuals, 
devoted  only  to  the  glory  and  the  story  of  the  state.  In 
later  days  this  peculiarity  indeed  gave  way,  and  a  hundred 
piping  voices  rise  to  celebrate  the  decadence  of  the  great 
republic;  but  by  that  time  she  has  ceased  to  be  a  noble 
spectacle,  and  luxury  and  vice  have  come  in  to  degrade 
the  tale  into  one  of  endless  pageantry  deprived  of  all 
meaning — no  longer  the  proud  occasional  triumphs  of 
a  conquering  race,  but  the  perpetual  occupation  of  a 
debased  and  corrupted  people.  To  the  everlasting  loss 
of  the  city  and  mankind  there  was  no  Vasari  in  Venice. 
Messer  Giorgio,  with  his  kindly,  humorous  eyes,  peered 
across  the  peninsula,  through  clouds  of  battle  and  conflict 
always  going  on,  and  perhaps  not  without  a  mist  of 
neighborly  depreciation  in  themselves,  perceived  far  off 
the  Venetian  men,  and  their  works,  who  were  thought 
great  painters — a  rival  school  in  competition  with  his 
own.  He  was  not  near  enough  to  discover  what  manner 
of  men  the  two  long-lived  brothers  Bellini,  or  the  silent 
Carpaccio,  with  his  beautiful  thoughts,  or  the  rest  of  the 
busy  citizens  who  filled  churches  and  chambers  with  a 
splendor  as  of  their  own  resplendent  air  and  glowing 
suns,  might  be.  An  infinite  loss  to  us  and  to  the  state, 
yet  completing  the  sentiment  of  the  consistent  story, 
which  demands  all  for  Venice;  but  for  the  individual 
whose  works  are  left  behind  him  to  her  glory,  his  name 
inscribed  upon  her  records  as  a  faithful  servant,  and  no 
more. 

Yet  when  we  enter  more  closely  into  the  often-repeated 
narrative,  transmitted  from  one  hand  to  another  till  each 
chronicler,  with  sharp,  incisive  touches,  or  rambling  in 
garrulous  details,  has  brought  it  down  to  his  own  time 
and  personal  knowledge,  this  severity  relaxes  somewhat. 
The  actors  in  the  drama  break  into  groups,  and  with 
more  or  less  difficulty  it  becomes  possible  to  discover 
here  and  there  how  a  change  came  about,  how  a  great 
conquest  was  made,  how  the  people  gathered  to  listen, 
and  how  a  doge,  an  orator,  a  suppliant  stood  up  and 
spoke.  We  begin  to  discern,  after  long  gazing,  how  a 
popular  tumult  would  spring  up,  and  all  Venice  dart  into 
fire  and  flame;  and  how  the  laws  and  institutions  grew 
which  controlled  that  possibility,  and  gradually,  with  the 
enforced  assent  of  the  populace,  bound  them  more 


INTRODUCTION.  X11I 

securely  than  ever  democracy  was  bound  before,  in  the 
name  of  freedom.  And  among  the  fire  and  smoke,  and 
through  the  mists,  we  come  to  perceive  here  and  there  a 
noble  figure — a  blind  old  doge,  with  white  locks  stream- 
ing, with  sightless  eyes  aflame,  running  his  galley  ashore, 
a  mark  for  all  the  arrows;  or  another  standing,  a  gentler, 
less  prominent  image  between  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor; 
or  with  deep  eyes,  all  hollowed  with  age  and  thought,  and 
close-shut  mouth,  as  in  that  portrait  Bellini  has  made  for 
us,  facing  a  league  of  monarchs  undaunted,  for  Venice 
against  the  world.  And  though  there  is  no  record  of 
that  time  when  Dante  stood  within  the  red  walls  of  the 
arsenal,  and  saw  the  galleys  making  and  mending,  and 
the  pitch  fuming  up  to  heaven, — as  all  the  world  may  still 
see  them  through  his  eyes, — yet  a  milder,  scholarly  image, 
a  round,  smooth  face,  with  cowl  and  garland,  looks  down 
upon  us  from  the  gallery,  all  blazing  with  crimson  and 
gold,  between  the  horses  of  San  Marco,  a  friendly  visitor, 
the  best  we  could  have,  since  Dante  left  no  sign  behind 
him,  and  probably  was  never  heard  of  by  the  magnificent 
Signoria.  Petrarch  stands  there,  to  be  seen  by  the  side 
of  the  historian  doge,  as  long  as  Venice  lasts;  but  not 
much  of  him,  only  a  glimpse,  as  is  the  Venetian  way,  lest 
in  contemplation  of  the  poet  we  should  for  a  moment 
forget  the  republic,  his  hostess  and  protector — Venice, 
the  all-glorious  mistress  of  the  seas,  the  first  object, 
the  unrivaled  sovereign  of  her  children's  thoughts  and 
hearts. 


THE    MAKERS    OF  VENICE. 


PART  I.  — THE  DOGES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    ORSEOLI. 

THE  names  of  the  doges,  though  so  important  in  the 
old  chronicles  of  the  republic,  which  are  in  many  cases 
little  more  than  a  succession  of  Vita  Ducum,  possess 
individually  few  associations  and  little  significance  to  the 
minds  of  the  strangers  who  gaze  upon  the  long  line  of 
portraits  under  the  cornice  of  the  Hall  of  the  Great 
Council,  without  pausing  with  special  interest  on  any  of 
them,  save  perhaps  on  that  corner  where,  conspicuous  by 
its  absence,  the  head  of  Marino  Faliero  ought  to  be.  The 
easy  adoption  of  one  figure,  by  no  means  particularly 
striking  or  characteristic,  but  which  served  the  occasion 
of  the  poet  without  giving  him  too  much  trouble,  has 
helped  to  throw  the  genuine  historical  importance  of 
a  very  remarkable  succession  of  rulers  into  obscurity. 
But  this  long  line  of  sovereigns,  sometimes  the  guides, 
often  the  victims,  of  the  popular  will,  stretching  back 
with  a  clearer  title  and  more  comprehensible  history  than 
that  of  most  dynasties  into  the  vague  distances  of  old 
time,  is  full  of  interest;  and  contains  many  a  tragic  epi- 
sode as  striking  and  more  significant  than  that  of  the 
aged  prince  whose  picturesque  story  is  the  one  most 
generally  known.  There  are,  indeed,  few  among  them 
who  have  been  publicly  branded  with  the  name  of  traitor; 
but,  at  least  in  the  earlier  chapters  of  the  great  civic 
history,  there  are  many  examples  of  a  popular  struggle 
and  a  violent  death  as  there  are  of  the  quiet  ending  and 
serene  magnificence  which  seem  fitted  to  the  age  and 
services  of  most  of  those  who  have  risen  to  that  dignity. 


2  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

They  have  been  in  many  cases  old  men,  already  worn  in 
the  service  of  their  country,  most  of  them  tried  by  land 
and  sea — mariners,  generals,  legislators,  fully  equipped 
for  all  the  various  needs  of  a  sovereignty  whose  dominion 
was  the  sea,  yet  which  was  at  the  same  time  weighted 
with  all  the  vexations  and  dangers  of  a  continental  rule. 
Their  elevation  was,  in  later  times,  a  crowning  honor,  a 
sort  of  dignified  retirement  from  the  ruder  labors  of  civic 
use;  but  in  the  earlier  ages  of  the  republic  this  was  not 
so,  and  at  all  times  it  was  a  most  dangerous  post,  and  one 
whose  occupant  was  most  likely  to  pay  for  popular  dis- 
appointments, to  run  the  risk  of  all  the  conspiracies,  and 
to  be  hampered  and  hindered  by  jealous  counselors  and 
the  continual  inspection  of  suspicious  spectators.  To 
change  the  doge  was  always  an  expedient  by  which  Venice 
could  propititate  fate  and  turn  the  course  of  fortune; 
and  the  greatest  misfortunes  recorded  in  her  chronicles 
are  those  of  her  princes,  whose  names  were  to-day 
acclaimed  to  all  the  echoes,  their  paths  strewed  with 
flowers  and  carpeted  with  cloth  of  gold,  but  to-morrow 
insulted  and  reviled,  and  themselves  exiled  or  mur- 
dered, all  services  to  the  state  notwithstanding.  Some- 
times, no  doubt,  the  overthrow  was  well  deserved,  but  in 
other  instances  it  can  be  set  down  to  nothing  but  popular 
caprice.  To  the  latter  category  belongs  the  story  of 
the  family  of  the  Orseoli,  which,  at  the  very  outset  of 
authentic  history,  sets  before  us  at  a  touch  the  early 
economy  of  Venice,  the  relations  of  the  princes  and  the 
people,  the  enthusiasms,  the  tumults,  the  gusts  of  popular 
caprice,  as  well  as  the  already  evident  predominance  of  a 
vigorous  aristocracy,  natural  leaders  of  the  people.  The 
history  of  this  noble  family  has  the  advantage  of  being 
set  before  us  by  the  first  distinct  contemporary  narrative, 
that  of  Giovanni  Sagornino — John  the  Deacon,  John  of 
Venice,  as  he  is  fondly  termed  by  a  recent  historian. 
The  incidents  of  this  period  of  power,  or  at  least  of  that 
of  the  two  first  princes  of  the  name,  incidents  full  of  im- 
portance in  the  history  of  the  rising  republic,  are  the  first 
that  stand  forth,  out  of  the  mist  of  nameless  chronicles, 
as  facts  which  were  seen  and  recorded  by  a  trustworthy 
witness. 

The  first  Orseolo  came  into   power  after  a   popular 
tumult  of  the  most  violent  description,  which  took  the 


THE    DOGES.  3 

throne  and  his  life  from  the  previous  doge,  Pietro  Can- 
diano.  This  event  occurred  in  the  year  976,  when  such 
scenes  were  not  unusual,  even  in  regions  less  excitable. 
Candiano  was  the  fourth  doge  of  his  name,  and  had  been 
in  his  youth  associated  with  his  father  in  the  supreme 
authority — but  in  consequence  of  his  rebellion  and  evil 
behavior  had  been  displaced  and  exiled,  his  life  saved 
only  at  the  prayer  of  the  old  doge.  On  the  death  of  his 
father,  however,  the  young  prodigal  had  been  acclaimed 
doge  by  the  rabble.  In  this  capacity  he  had  done  much 
to  disgust  and  alarm  the  sensitive  and  proud  republic. 
Chief  among  his  offenses  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
acquired,  through  his  wife,  continental  domains  which 
required  to  be  kept  in  subjection  by  means  of  a  body  of 
armed  retainers,  dangerous  for  Venice :  and  he  was  super- 
bissimo  from  his  youth  up,  and  had  given  frequent  offense 
by  his  arrogance  and  exactions.  Upon  what  occasion  it 
was  that  the  popular  patience  failed  at  last  we  are  not 
told  but  only  that  a  sudden  tumult  arose  against  him,  a 
rush  of  general  fury.  When  the  enraged  mob  hurried  to 
the  ducal  palace  they  found  that  the  doge  had  fortified 
himself  there;  upon  which  they  adopted  the  primitive 
method  of  setting  fire  to  the  surrounding  buildings. 
Tradition  asserts  that  it  was  from  the  house  of  Pietro 
Orseolo  that  the  fire  was  kindled,  and  some  say  by  his 
suggestion.  It  would  seem  that  the  crowd  intended  only 
to  burn  some  of  the  surrounding  houses  to  frighten  or 
smoke  out  the  doge;  but  the  wind  was  high,  and  the 
ducal  palace,  with  the  greater  part  of  San  Marco,  which 
was  then  merely  the  ducal  chapel,  was  consumed,  along 
with  all  the  houses  stretching  upward  along  the  course 
of  the  Grand  Canal  as  far  as  Santa  Maria  Zobenigo. 
This  sudden  conflagration  lights  up,  in  the  darkness  of 
that  distant  age,  a  savage  scene.  The  doge  seized  in  his 
arms  his  young  child,  whether  with  the  hope  of  saving  it 
or  of  saving  himself  by  means  of  that  shield  of  innocence, 
and  made  his  way  out  of  his  burning  house  through  the 
church,  which  was  also  burning,  though  better  able,  prob- 
ably, to  resist  the  flames.  But  when  he  emerged  from 
the  secret  passages  of  San  Marco  he  found  that  the  crowd 
had  anticipated  him,  and  that  his  way  was  barred  on 
every  side  by  armed  men.  The  desperate  fugitive  con- 
fronted the  multitude,  and  resorted  to  that  method  so 


4  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

often,  and  sometimes  so  unexpectedly,  successful  with  the 
masses.  In  the  midst  of  the  fire  and  smoke,  surrounded 
by  those  threatening,  fierce  countenances,  with  red  reflec- 
tions glittering  in  every  sword  and  lance-point,  reflected 
over  again  in  the  sullen  water,  he  made  a  last  appeal. 
They  had  banished  him  in  his  youth,  yet  had  relented 
and  recalled  him  and  made  him  doge.  Would  they  burn 
him  out  now,  drive  him  into  a  corner,  kill  him  like  a  wild 
beast?  And  supposing  even  that  he  was  worthy  of  death, 
what  had  the  child  done;  an  infant  who  had  never  sinned 
against  them?  This  scene,  so  full  of  fierce  and  terrible 
elements,  the  angry  roar  of  the  multitude,  the  blazing  of 
the  fire  behind  that  circle  of  tumult  and  agitation,  the 
wild  glare  in  the  sky,  and  amid  all,  the  one  soft,  infantine 
figure  held  up  in  the  father's  despairing  arms — might 
afford  a  subject  for  a  powerful  picture  in  the  long  suc- 
cession of  Venetian  records  made  by  art. 

When  this  tragedy  had  ended,  by  the  murder  of  both 
father  and  child,  the  choice  of  the  city  fell  upon  Pietro 
Orseolo  as  the  new  doge.  An  ecclesiastical  historian  of 
the  time  speaks  of  his  "wicked  ambition"  as  instru- 
mental in  the  downfall  of  his  predecessor  and  of  his  future 
works  of  charity  as  dictated  by  remorse;  but  we  are  dis- 
posed to  hope  that  this  is  merely  said,  as  is  not  un- 
common in  religious  story,  to  enhance  the  merits  of  his 
conversion.  The  secular  chroniclers  are  unanimous  in 
respect  to  his  excellence.  He  was  a  man  in  everything 
the  contrary  of  the  late  doge, — a  man  laudato  di  tutti, 
approved  of  all  men, — and  of  whom  nothing  but  good  was 
known.  Perhaps  if  he  had  any  share  in  the  tumult  which 
ended  in  the  murder  of  Candiano,  his  conscience  may 
have  made  a  crime  of  it  when  the  hour  of  conversion 
came;  but  certainly  in  Venice  there  would  seem  to  have 
been  no  accuser  to  say  a  word  against  him.  In  the  confu- 
sion of  the  great  fire  and  the  disorganization  of  the  city, 
"contaminated  "  by  the  murder  of  the  prince,  and  all  the 
disorders  involved,  Orseolo  was  forced  into  the  uneasy 
seat  whose  occupant  was  sure  to  be  the  first  victim  if  the 
affairs  of  Venice  went  wrong.  His  first  act  was  to  remove 
the  insignia  of  his  office  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  doge's 
palace  to  his  own  house,  which  was  situated  upon  the 
Riva  beyond  and  adjacent  to  the  home  of  the  doges.  It 
is  difficult  to  form  to  ourselves  an  idea  of  the  aspect  of 


THE    DOGES.  5 

the  city  at  this  early  period.  Venice,  though  already 
great,  was  in  comparison  with  its  after  appearance  a  mere 
village,  or  rather  a  cluster  of  villages,  straggling  along 
the  sides  of  each  muddy,  marshy  island,  keeping  the  line 
of  the  broad  and  navigable  water-way,  in  dots  of  building 
and  groups  of  houses  and  churches,  from  the  olive- 
covered  isle  where  San  Pietro,  the  first  great  church  of 
the  city,  shone  white  among  its  trees,  along  the  curve 
of  the  Canaluccio  to  the  Rialto — Rive-Alto — what  Mr. 
Ruskin  calls  the  deep  stream,  where  the  church  of  San 
Giacomo,  another  central  spot,  stood,  with  its  group 
of  dwellings  round;  no  bridge  then  dreamed  of,  but  a 
ferry  connecting  the  two  sides  of  the  Grand  Canal.  Al- 
ready the  stir  of  commerce  was  in  the  air,  and  the  big  sea- 
going galleys,  with  their  high  bulwarks,  lay  at  the  rude 
wharfs,  to  take  in  outward-bound  cargoes  of  salt,  salt 
fish,  wooden  furniture,  bowls,  and  boxes  of  home  manu- 
facture, as  well  as  the  goods  brought  from  northern 
nations,  of  which  they  were  the  merchants  and  carriers — 
and  come  back  laden  with  the  riches  of  the  East — with 
wonderful  tissues  and  carpets,  and  marbles  and  relics  of 
the  saints.  The  palace  and  its  chapel,  the  shrine  of  San 
Marco,  stood  where  they  still  stand,  but  there  were  no 
columns  on  the  Piazzetta,  and  the  Great  Piazza,  was  a 
piece  of  waste  land  belonging  to  the  nuns  at  San  Zaccaria, 
which  was,  as  one  might  say,  the  parish  church.  Most 
probably  this  vacant  space,  in  the  days  of  the  first  Orseolo, 
was  little  more  than  a  waste  of  salt-water  grasses,  and 
sharp  and  acrid  plants  like  those  that  now  flourish  in  such 
rough  luxuriance  on  the  Lido — or  perhaps  boasted  a  tree 
or  two,  a  patch  of  cultivated  ground.  Such  was  the 
scene — very  different  from  the  Venice  of  the  earliest  pic- 
tures; still  more  different  from  that  we  know.  But 
already  the  lagoon  was  full  of  boats,  and  the  streets  of 
commotion,  and  Venice  grew  like  a  young  plant,  like  the 
quick-spreading  vegetation  of  her  own  warm,  wet 
marshes,  day  by  day. 

The  new  doge  proceeded  at  once  to  rebuild  both  the 
palace  and  the  shrine.  The  energy  and  vigor  of  the  man 
who,  with  that  desolate  and  smoking  mass  of  ruin  around 
him — three  hundred  houses  burned  to  the  ground  and  all 
their  forlorn  inhabitants  to  house  and  care  for — could  yet 
address  himself  without  a  pause  to  the  reconstruction  on 


6  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

the  noblest  scale  of  the  great  twin  edifices,  the  glorious 
dwelling  of  the  saint,  the  scarcely  less  cared-for  palace 
of  the  governor,  the  representation  of  law  and  order  in 
Venice,  has  something  wonderful  in  it.  He  was  not  rich, 
and  neither  was  the  city,  which  had  in  the  midst  of  this 
disaster  to  pay  the  dower  of  the  Princess  Valdrada,  the 
widow  of  Candiano,  whose  claims  were  backed  by  the 
Emperor  Otto,  and  would,  if  refused,  have  brought  upon 
the  republic  all  the  horrors  of  war.  Orseolo  gave  up  a 
great  part  of  his  own  patrimony,  however,  to  the  rebuild- 
ing of  the  church  and  palace;  eight  thousand  ducats  a 
year  for  eighty  years  (the  time  which  elapsed  before  its 
completion),  say  the  old  records,  he  devoted  to  this 
noble  and  pious  purpose,  and  sought  far  and  near  for  the 
best  workmen,  some  of  whom  came  as  far  as  from  Con- 
stantinople, the  metropolis  of  all  the  arts.  How  far  the 
walls  had  risen  in  his  day,  or  how  much  he  saw  accom- 
plished, or  heard  of  before  the  end  of  his  life,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  tell.  But  one  may  fancy  how,  amid  all  the  toils 
of  the  troubled  state,  while  he  labored  and  pondered  how 
to  get  that  money  together  for  Valdrada,  and  pacify  the 
emperor  and  her  other  powerful  friends,  and  how  to 
reconcile  all  factions,  and  heal  all  wounds,  and  house 
more  humbly  his  poor  burned-out  citizens,  the  sight  from 
his  windows  of  those  fair,  solid  walls,  rising  out  of  the 
ruins,  must  have  comforted  his  soul.  Let  us  hope  he 
saw  the  round  of  some  lower  arch,  the  rearing  of  some 
pillar,  a  pearly  marble  slab  laid  on,  or  at  least  the  carved 
work  on  the  basement  of  a  column  before  he  went  away. 
The  historian  tells  us  that  it  was  Orseolo  also  who 
ordered  from  Constantinople  the  famous  Pala  d'oro,  the 
wonderful  gold  and  silver  work  which  still  on  high  days 
and  festas  is  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the  faithful  on  the 
great  altar,  one  of  the  most  magnificent  ornaments  of 
San  Marco.  It  is  a  pity  that  inquisitive  artists  and  anti- 
quaries with  their  investigations  have  determined  this 
work  to  be  at  least  two  centuries  later,  but  Sagornino, 
who  was  the  doge's  contemporary,  could  not  have  fore- 
seen the  work  of  a  later  age,  so  that  he  must  certainly 
refer  to  some  former  tabulam  miro  opere  ex  argento  et  auro, 
which  Orseolo  in  his  magnificence  added  to  his  other 
gifts.  Nor  did  the  doge  confine  his  bounty  to  these  great 
and  beautiful  works.  If  the  beauty  of  Venice  was  dear 


e  great  twin  edifices,  the  glorious 
scarcely  less  cared-for  palace 
representation  of  law  and  order  in 
tul  in  it.     He  was  not  rich, 
.vhich  had  in  the  midst  oi" 
...ty  the  dower  of  the  Princess  Valdrada, 

vhose  claims  were  backed  by  the 

.mo,  would,  if  refuse  ;rought  upon 

epublic  :  .orrors  of  war  lo  gave  up  a 

•  part  of  h.s  own  patrimony,  h  e  rebuild- 

:f  the  church  am'  ducats  a 

year  for  eighty  ye  /efore  its 

completion),   say  •'  -i    to  this 

noble  and  pious  pu-  'for  the 

best  workmen. 

staritino1,  :    :  ;  ' 

walls  hat!  "  >  .  . 

plished,  or  •<.;  ol  his 

sible  to  te.  ;ow,  ami 

of  the  trov  "ed  and  pond 


to  get  thin  •      CATHEDRAL  OF  SAN 


and  pacify  the 


uds,    and  how  to 
al  all  wounds,  and  house 


!  he  sight  from 

•ut  of  the 

;s  hope  he 

some 

•• 

the 


emperor  and 
ncile  all  fac 
humbly  his  poor 
:</ws  of  those 
have  cor: 
.;i  of  some  I, 

n<     t  oi  .:  c 
:is   us  thin 
iinople  th-. 
iver  work  w 
'  to  the  e 
most   m.i. 

;:hat  inqi  I  anti- 

;ined  this 

nturi<  ^agornino, 

•  i>rary,  co  have  fore- 

so  that  he  must  cert 
tiiro  opere  ex  argento  et 
•  :ence  added  to  ; 
:e  his  bounty  : 
and  che  beauty  of  "Vpr.j- r    t- 


:7« 

.  '  .-•*•'  •.-  --^ 


THE   DOGES.  7 

to  him,  divine  charity  was  still  more  dear.  Opposite  the 
rising  fpalace,  where  now  stands  the  Libreria  Vecchia, 
Orseolo,  taking  advantage  of  a  site  cleared  by  the  fire, 
built  a  hospital,  still  standing  in  the  time  of  Sabellico, 
who  speaks  of  it  as  the  Spedale,  il  quale  %  sopra  la  Piazza 
dirimpetto  al  Palazzo,  and  where,  according  to  the  tale, 
he  constantly  visited  and  cared  for  the  sick  poor. 

It  must  have  been  while  still  in  the  beginning  of  all 
these  great  works,  but  already  full  of  many  cares,  the 
Candiano  faction  working  against  him,  and  perhaps  but 
little  response  coming  from  the  people  to  whom  he  was 
sacrificing  his  comfort  and  his  life,  that  Orseolo  received 
a  visit  which  changed  the  course  of  his  existence.  Among 
the  pilgrims  who  came  from  all  quarters  to  the  shrine  of 
the  evangelist,  a  certain  French  abbot,  Carinus  or  Guarino, 
of  the  monastery  of  St.  Michael  de  Cusano,  in  Aquitaine, 
arrived  in  Venice.  It  was  Orseolo's  custom  to  have  all 
such  pious  visitors  brought  to  his  house  and  entertained 
there  during  their  stay,  and  he  found  in  Abbot  Guarino 
a  congenial  soul.  They  talked  together  of  all  things  in 
heaven  and  earth,  and  of  this  wonderful  new  Venice 
rising  from  the  sea,  with  all  her  half-built  churches  and 
palaces;  and  of  the  holy  relics  brought  from  every  coast 
for  her  enrichment  and  sanctification,  the  bodies  of  the 
saints  which  made  almost  every  church  a  sacred  shrine. 
And  no  doubt  the  cares  of  the  doge's  troubled  life,  the 
burdens  laid  on  him  daily,  the  threats  of  murder  and 
assassination  with  which,  instead  of  gratitude,  his  self- 
devotion  was  received,  were  poured  into  the  sympathetic 
ear  of  the  priest,  who  on  his  side  drew  such  pictures  of 
the  holy  peace  of  the  monastic  life,  the  tranquillity  and 
blessed  privations  of  the  cloister,  as  made  the  heart  of 
the  doge  to  burn  within  him.  "If  thou  wouldst  be 
perfect " — said  the  abbot,  as  on  another  occasion  a  greater 
voice  had  said.  "Oh,  benefactor  of  my  soul!"  cried 
the  doge,  beholding  a  vista  of  new  hope  opening  before 
him,  a  halcyon  world  of  quiet,  a  life  of  sacrifice  and 
prayer.  He  had  already  for  years  lived  like  a  monk, 
putting  all  the  indulgences  of  wealth  and  even  affection 
aside.  For  the  moment,  however,  he  had  too  many 
occupations  on  his  hands  to  make  retirement  possible. 
He  asked  fora  year  in  which  to  arrange  his  affairs:  to 
put  order  in  the  republic  and  liberate  himself.  With 


8  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

this  agreement  the  abbot  left  him,  but  true  to  his  engage- 
ment, when  the  heats  of  September  were  once  more 
blazing  on  the  lagoon,  came  back  to  his  penitent.  The 
doge  in  the  meantime  had  made  all  his  arrangements. 
No  doubt  it  was  in  this  solemn  year,  which  no  one  knew 
was  to  be  the  end  of  his  life  in  the  world,  that  he  set  aside 
so  large  a  part  of  his  possessions  for  the  prosecution  of 
the  buildings  which  now  he  could  no  longer  hope  to  see 
completed.  When  all  these  preliminaries  were  settled, 
and  everything  done,  Orseolo,  with  a  chosen  friend  or 
two,  one  of  them  his  son-in-law,  the  sharer  of  his  thoughts 
and  his  prayers,  took  boat  silently  one  night  across  the 
still  lagoon  to  Fusina,  where  horses  awaited  them;  and 
so,  flying  in  the  darkness  over  the  mainland,  abandoned 
the  cares  of  the  princedom  and  the  world. 

Of  the  chaos  that  was  left  behind,  the  consternation  of 
the  family,  the  confusion  of  the  state,  the  record  says 
nothing.  This  was  not  the  view  of  the  matter  which 
occurred  to  the  primitive  mind.  We  are  apt  to  think 
with  reprobation,  perhaps  too  strongly  expressed,  of  the 
cowardice  of  duties  abandoned  and  the  cruelty  of  ties 
broken.  But  in  the  early  ages  no  one  seems  to  have 
taken  this  view.  The  sacrifice  made  by  a  prince,  who 
gave  up  power  and  freedom,  and  all  the  advantages  of  an 
exalted  position,  in  order  to  accept  privation  and  poverty 
for  the  love  of  God,  was  more  perceptible  then  to  the 
general  intelligence  than  the  higher  self-denial  of  sup- 
porting, for  the  love  of  God,  the  labors  and  miseries  of 
his  exalted  but  dangerous  office.  The  tumult  and  com- 
motion which  followed  the  flight  of  Orseolo  were  not 
mingled  with  blame  or  reproach.  The  doge,  in  the  eyes 
of  his  generation,  chose  the  better  part,  and  offered  a 
sacrifice  with  which  God  Himself  could  not  but  be  well 
pleased. 

He  was  but  fifty  when  he  left  Venice,  having  reigned  a 
little  over  two  years.  Guarino  placed  his  friend  under 
the  spiritual  rule  of  a  certain  stern  and  holy  man,  the 
saintly  Romoaldo,  in  whose  life  and  legend  we  find  the 
only  record  of  Pietro  Orseolo's  latter  days.  St.  Romo- 
aldo was  the  founder  of  the  order  of  the  Camaldolites, 
practicing  in  his  own  person  the  greatest  austerity  of  life, 
and  imposing  it  upon  his  monks,  to  whom  he  refused 
even  the  usual  relaxation  of  better  fare  on  Sunday,  which 


THE    DOGES.  9 

had  been  their  privilege.  The  noble  Venetians,  taken 
from  the  midst  of  their  liberal  and  splendid  life,  were  set 
to  work  at  the  humble  labors  of  husbandmen  upon  this 
impoverished  diet.  He  who  had  been  the  Doge  Pietro 
presently  found  that  he  was  incapable  of  supporting  so 
austere  a  rule.  "Wherefore  he  humbly  laid  himself  at 
the  feet  of  the  blessed  Romoaldo,  and  being  bidden  to 
rise,  with  shame  confessed  his  weakness.  'Father, 'he 
said,  '  as  I  have  a  great  body,  I  cannot  for  my  sins 
sustain  my  strength  with  this  morsel  of  hard  bread.' 
Romoaldo,  having  compassion  on  the  frailty  of  his  body, 
added  another  portion  of  biscuit  to  the  usual  measure, 
and  thus  held  out  the  hand  of  pity  to  the  sinking 
brother."  The  comic  pathos  of  the  complaint  of  the 
big  Venetian,  bred  amid  the  freedom  of  the  seas,  and 
expected  to  live  and  work  upon  half  a  biscuit,  is  beyond 
comment. 

He  lived  many  years  in  the  humility  of  conventual  sub- 
jection, and  died,  apparently  without  any  advancement 
in  religious  life,  in  the  far  distance  of  France,  never  see- 
ing his  Venice  again.  In  after  years,  his  son,  who  was 
only  fifteen  at  the  period  of  the  doge's  flight,  and  who 
was  destined,  in  his  turn,  to  do  so  much  for  Venice, 
visited  his  father  in  his  obscure  retirement.  The  meet- 
ing between  the  almost  too  generous  father,  who  had 
given  so  much  to  Venice,  and  had  completed  the  offering 
by  giving  up  himself  at  last  to  the  hard  labors  and 
humility  of  monastic  life,  and  the  ambitious  youth,  full 
of  the  highest  projects  of  patriotism  and  courage,  must 
have  been  a  remarkable  scene.  The  elder  Pietro  in  his 
cloister  had,  no  doubt,  pondered  much  on  Venice  and  on 
the  career  of  the  boy  whom  he  had  left  behind  him 
there,  and  whose  character  and  qualities  must  have 
already  shown  themselves;  and  much  was  said  between 
them  on  this  engrossing  subject.  Orseolo,  "whether  by 
the  spirit  of  prophecy  or  by  special  revelation,  predicted 
to  him  all  that  was  to  happen.  '  I  know,'  he  said,  '  my 
son,  that  they  will  make  you  doge,  and  that  you  will 
prosper.  Take  care  to  preserve  the  rights  of  the  Church 
and  those  of  your  subjects.  Be  not  drawn  aside  from 
doing  justice,  either  by  love  or  by  hate.'  "  Better  counsel 
could  no  fallen  monarch  give,  and  Orseolo  was  happier 
than  many  fathers  in  a  son  worthy  of  him. 


IO  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

The  city  deprived  of  such  a  prince  was  very  sad,  but 
still  more  full  of  longing:  Molto  trista,  ma  piii  desiderosa, 
says  Sabellico;  and  his  family  remained  dear  to  Venice — 
for  as  long  as  popular  favor  usually  lasts.  Pietro  died, 
nineteen  years  after,  in  the  odor  of  sanctity,  and  was 
canonized,  to  the  glory  of  his  city.  His  breve,  the  inscrip- 
tion under  his  portrait  in  the  great  hall,  attributes  to 
him  the  building  of  San  Marco,  as  well  as  many  miracles 
and  wonderful  works.  The  miracles,  however,  were  per- 
formed far  from  Venice,  and  have  no  place  in  her  records, 
except  those  deeds  of  charity  and  tenderness  which  he 
accomplished  among  his  people  before  he  left  them. 
These  the  existing  corporation  of  Venice,  never  unwilling 
to  chronicle  either  a  new  or  antique  glory,  have  lately 
celebrated  by  an  inscription,  which  the  traveler  will  see 
from  the  little  bay  in  which  the  canal  terminates,  just 
behind  the  upper  end  of  the  Piazza.  This  little  triangular 
opening  among  the  tall  houses  is  called  the  Bacino 
Orseolo,  and  bears  a  marble  tablet  to  the  honor  of  the 
first  Pietro  of  this  name,  il  santo,  high  up  upon  the  wall. 

In  the  agitation  and  trouble  caused  by  Orseolo's 
unexpected  disappearance,  a  period  of  discord  and  dis- 
aster began.  A  member  of  the  Candiano  party  was 
placed  in  the  doge's  seat  for  a  short  and  agitated  reign, 
and  he  was  succeeded  by  a  rich  but  feeble  prince,  in  whose 
time  occurred  almost  the  worst  disorders  that  have  ever 
been  known  in  Venice — a  bloody  struggle  between  two 
families,  one  of  which  had  the  unexampled  baseness  of 
seeking  the  aid  against  their  native  city  of  foreign  arms. 
The  only  incident  which  we  need  mention  of  this  disturbed 
period  is  that  the  Doge  Memmo  bestowed  upon  Giovanni 
Morosini,  Orseolo's  companion  and  son-in-law,  who  had 
returned  a  monk  to  his  native  city — perhaps  called  back 
by  the  misfortunes  of  his  family — a  certain  "beautiful 
little  island  covered  with  olives  and  cypresses,"  which 
lay  opposite  the  doge's  palace,  and  is  known  now  to 
every  visitor  of  Venice  as  St.  Georgio  Maggiore.  There 
was  already  a  chapel  dedicated  to  St.  George  among  the 
trees. 

Better  things,  however,  were  now  in  store  for  the 
republic.  After  the  incapable  Memmo,  young  Pietro 
was  called,  according  to  his  father's  prophecy,  to  the 
ducal  throne.  "When  the  future  historian  of  Venice 


THE    DOGES.  II 

comes  to  the  deeds  of  this  great  doge  he  will  feel  his  soul 
enlarged,"  says  Sagredo,  the  author  of  a  valuable  study 
of  Italian  law  and  economics;  "it  is  no  more  a  newborn 
people  of  whom  he  will  have  to  speak,  but  an  adult  nation, 
rich,  conquering,  full  of  traffic  and  wealth."  The  new 
prince  had  all  the  qualities  which  were  wanted  for  the 
consolidation  and  development  of  the  republic.  He  had 
known  something  of  that  bitter  but  effectual  training  of 
necessity  which  works  so  nobly  in  generous  natures. 
His  father's  brief  career  in  Venice,  and  his  counsels  from 
his  cell,  were  before  him,  both  as  example  and  encourage- 
ment. He  had  been  in  France;  he  had  seen  the  world. 
He  had  an  eye  to  mark  that  the  moment  had  come  for 
larger  action  and  bolder  self-assertion,  and  he  had 
strength  of  mind  to  carry  his  conceptions  out.  And  he 
had  that  touching  advantage — the  stepping-stone  of  a 
previous  life  sacrificed  and  unfulfilled — upon  which  to 
raise  the  completeness  of  his  own.  In  short,  he  was  the 
man  of  the  time,  prepared  to  carry  out  the  wishes  and 
realize  the  hopes  of  his  age;  and  when  he  became,  at  the 
age  of  thirty,  in  the  fullness  of  youthful  strength  the 
first  magistrate  of  Venice,  a  new  chapter  of  her  history 
began. 

It  was  in  the  year  991,  on  the  eve  of  a  new  century, 
sixteen  years  after  his  father's  abdication,  that  the  second 
Pietro  Orseolo  began  to  reign.  The  brawls  of  civil  con- 
tention disappeared  on  his  accession,  and  the  presence  of 
a  prince  who  was  at  the  same  time  a  strong  man,  and  fully 
determined  to  defend  and  extend  his  dominion,  became 
instantly  apparent  to  the  world.  His  first  acts  were 
directed  to  secure  the  privileges  of  Venice  by  treaty  with 
the  emperors  of  the  East  and  West,  establishing  her 
position  by  written  charter  under  the  golden  seal  of  Con- 
stantinople, and  with  not  less  efficacy  from  the  imperial 
chancellorship  of  the  German  Otto.  On  both  sides  an 
extension  of  privilege  and  the  remission  of  certain  tributes 
were  secured.  Having  settled  this,  Pietro  turned  his 
attention  to  the  great  necessity  of  the  moment,  upon 
which  the  very  existence  of  the  republic  depended.  Up 
to  this  time  Venice,  to  free  herself  from  the  necessity  of 
holding  the  rudder  in  one  hand  and  the  sword  in  the 
other,  had  paid  a  certain  blackmail,  such  as  was  exacted 
till  recent  times  by  the  corsairs  of  Africa,  to  the  pirate 


12  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

tribes,  who  were  the  scourge  of  the  seas,  sometimes 
called  Narentani,  sometimes  Schiavoni  and  Croats,  by  the 
chroniclers,  allied  bands  of  sea  robbers  who  infested  the 
Adriatic.  The  time  had  come,  however,  when  it  was  no 
longer  seemly  that  the  proud  city,  growing  daily  in  power 
and  wealth,  should  stoop  to  secure  her  safety  by  such 
means.  The  payment  was  accordingly  stopped,  and  an 
encounter  followed,  in  which  the  pirates  were  defeated. 
Enraged  but  impotent,  not  daring  to  attack  Venice,  or 
risk  their  galleys  in  the  intricate  channels  of  the  lagoons, 
they  set  upon  the  unoffending  towns  of  Dalmatia,  and 
made  a  raid  along  the  coast,  robbing  and  ravaging.  The 
result  was  that  from  all  the  neighboring  seaboard  ambas- 
sadors arrived  in  haste,  asking  the  help  of  the  Venetians. 
The  cruelties  of  the  corsairs  had  already,  more  than 
once,  reduced  the  seaports  and  prosperous  cities  of  this 
coast  to  the  point  of  desperation,  and  they  caught  at  the 
only  practicable  help  with  the  precipitancy  of  suffering. 
The  doge  thus  found  the  opportunity  he  sought,  and  took 
advantage  of  it  without  a  moment's  delay.  At  once  the 
arsenal  was  set  to  work,  and  a  great  armata  decided  upon. 
The  appeal  thus  made  by  the  old  to  the  new — the  ancient 
cities,  which  had  been  in  existence  while  she  was  but 
a  collection  of  swamp  and  salt-water  marshes,  seeking 
deliverance  from  the  newborn,  miraculous  city  of  the  sea — 
is  the  most  striking  testimony  to  the  growing  importance 
of  Venice.  It  was  at  the  same  time  her  opportunity  and 
the  beginning  of  her  conquests  and  victories. 

When  the  great  expedition  was  ready  to  set  out,  the 
doge  went  in  solemn  state  to  the  cathedral  church  of  San 
Pietro  in  Castello,  and  received  from  the  hands  of  the 
bishop  the  standard  of  San  Marco,  with  which  he  went  on 
board.  It  was  spring  when  the  galleys  sailed,  and  Dan- 
dolo  tells  us  that  they  were  blown  by  contrary  winds  to 
Grado,  where  Vitale  Candiano  was  now  peacefully  occupy- 
ing his  see  as  patriarch.  Perhaps  something  of  the  old 
feud  still  subsisting  made  Orseolo  unwilling  to  enter  the 
port  in  which  the  son  of  the  murdered  doge,  whom  his 
own  father  had  succeeded,  was  supreme.  But  if  this  had 
been  the  case,  his  doubts  must  have  soon  been  set  at  rest 
by  the  patriarch's  welcome.  He  came  out  to  meet  the 
storm-driven  fleet  with  his  clergy  and  his  people,  and 
added  to  the  armament  not  only  his  blessing,  but  the 


THE   DOGES.  13 

standard  of  St.  Hermagora  to  bring  them  victory.  Thus 
endowed,  with  the  two  blessed  banners  blowing  over 
them,  the  expedition  set  sail  once  more.  The  account  of 
the  voyage  that  follows  is  for  some  time  that  of  a  kind 
of  royal  progress  by  sea,  the  galleys  passing  in  triumph 
from  one  port  to  another,  anticipated  by  processions 
coming  out  to  meet  them;  bishops  with  their  clergy 
streaming  forth,  and  all  the  citizens,  private  and  public, 
hurrying  to  offer  their  allegiance  to  their  defenders. 
Wherever  holy  relics  were  enshrined,  the  doge  landed  to 
visit  them  and  pay  his  devotions;  and  everywhere  he  was 
met  by  ambassadors  tendering  the  submission  of  another 
and  another  town  or  village,  declaring  themselves 
"willingly"  subjects  of  the  republic,  and  enrolling  their 
young  men  among  its  soldiers.  That  this  submission  was 
not  so  real  as  it  appeared  is  proved  by  the  subsequent 
course  of  events  and  the  perpetual  rebellions  of  those 
very  cities;  but  in  their  moment  of  need  nothing  but 
enthusiasm  and  delight  were  apparent  to  the  deliverers. 
At  Trau  a  brother  of  the  Schiavonian  king  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  doge  and  sought  his  protection,  giving  up 
his  son  Stefano  as  a  hostage  into  the  hands  of  the  con- 
quering prince. 

At  last,  having  cleared  the  seas,  the  expedition  came 
to  the  nest  of  robbers  itself,  the  impregnable  city  of 
Lagosta.  "It  is  said,"  Sabellico  reports  with  a  certain 
awe,  "  that  its  position  was  pointed  out  by  the  precipices 
on  each  side  rising  up  in  the  midst  of  the  sea.  The 
Narentani  trusted  in  its  strength,  and  here  all  the  corsairs 
took  refuge,  when  need  was,  as  in  a  secure  fortress." 
The  doge  summoned  the  garrison  to  surrender,  which 
they  would  gladly  have  done,  the  same  historian  informs 
us,  had  they  not  feared  the  destruction  of  their  city;  but 
on  that  account,  "  for  love  of  their  country,  than  which 
there  is  nothing  more  dear  to  men,"  they  made  a  stub- 
born defense.  Dandolo  adds  that  the  doge  required  the 
destruction  of  this  place  as  a  condition  of  peace.  After 
a  desperate  struggle  the  fortress  was  taken,  notwithstand- 
ing the  natural  strength  of  the  rocky  heights — the 
asprezza  de'  luoghi  neW  ascendere  difficile — and  of  the  Rocca 
or  great  tower  that  crowned  the  whole.  The  object  of 
the  expedition  was  fully  accomplished  when  the  pirates' 
nest  and  stronghold  was  destroyed.  "  For  nearly  a  hun- 


14  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

dred  and  sixty  years  the  possession  of  the  sea  had  been 
contested  with  varying  fortune;  "  now,  once  for  all,  the 
matter  was  settled.  "  The  army  returned  victorious  to 
the  ships.  The  prince  had  purged  the  sea  of  robbers, 
and  all  the  maritime  parts  of  Istria,  of  Liburnia  and  of 
Dalmatia,  were  brought  under  the  power  of  Venice." 
With  what  swelling  sails,  con  vento  prospero,  the  fleet  must 
have  swept  back  to  the  anxious  city  which,  with  no  post 
nor  dispatch  boat  to  carry  her  tidings,  gazed  silent,  wait- 
ing in  that  inconceivable  patience  of  old  times,  with 
anxious  eyes  watching  the  horizon!  How  the  crowds 
must  have  gathered  on  the  old  primitive  quays  when  the 
first  faint  rumor  flew  from  Malamocco  and  the  other  sen- 
tinel isles  of  sails  at  hand!  How  many  boats  must  have 
darted  forth,  their  rowers  half  distracted  with  haste  and 
suspense,  to  meet  the  returning  armata  and  know  the 
worst!  Who  can  doubt  that  then,  as  always,  there  were 
some  to  whom  the  good  news  brought  anguish  and  sor- 
row; but  of  that  the  chroniclers  tell  us  nothing.  And 
among  all  our  supposed  quickening  of  life  in  modern 
times,  can  we  imagine  a  moment  of  living  more  intense, 
or  sensations  more  acute,  than  those  with  which  the 
whole  city  must  have  watched,  one  by  one,  the  galleys 
bearing  along  with  them  their  tokens  of  victory,  thread- 
ing their  way,  slow  even  with  the  most  prosperous 
wind,  through  the  windings  of  the  narrow  channels, 
until  the  first  man  could  leap  on  shore  and  the  wonderful 
news  be  told? 

"There  was  then  no  custom  of  triumphs,"  says  the 
record,  "but  the  doge  entered  the  city  triumphant,  sur- 
rounded by  the  grateful  people;  and  there  made  public 
declaration  of  all  the  things  he  had  done — how  all  Istria 
and  the  seacoast  to  the  furthest  confines  of  Dalmatia 
with  all  the  neighboring  islands,  by  the  clemency  of  God 
and  the  success  of  the  expedition,  were  made  subject  to 
the  Venetian  dominion.  With  magnificent  words  he  was 
applauded  by  the  Great  Council,  which  ordained  that  not 
only  of  Venice  but  of  Dalmatia  he  and  his  successors 
should  be  proclaimed  doge." 

Thus  the  first  great  conquest  of  the  Venetians  was  ac- 
complished, and  the  infant  city  made  mistress  of  the  seas. 

It  was  on  the  return  of  Pietro  Orseolo  from  this  tri- 
umphant expedition,  and  in  celebration  of  his  conquests, 


THE   DOGES.  15 

that  the  great  national  festivity,  called  in  after  days  the 
Espousal  of  the  Sea,  the  Feast  of  La  Sensa,  Ascension 
Day,  was  first  instituted.  The  original  ceremony  was 
simpler,  but  littlerless  imposing  than  its  later  development. 
The  clergy  in  a  barge  all  covered  with  cloth  of  gold,  and 
in  all  possible  glory  of  vestments  and  sacred  ornaments, 
set  out  from  among  the  olive  woods  of  San  Pietro  in 
Castello,  and  met  the  doge  in  his  still  more  splendid 
barge  at  the  Lido,  where,  after  litanies  and  psalms,  the 
bishop  rose  and  prayed  aloud  in  the  hearing  of  all  the 
people,  gathered  in  boat  and  barge  and  every  skiff  that 
would  hold  water,  in  a  far-extending  crowd  along  the 
sandy  line  of  the  flat  shore.  "Grant,  O  Lord,  that  this 
sea  may  be  to  us  and  to  all  who  sail  upon  it  tranquil 
and  quiet.  To  this  end  we  pray.  Hear  us,  good  Lord." 
Then  the  boat  of  the  ecclesiastics  approached  closely  the 
boat  of  the  doge,  and  while  the  singers  intoned  "  Aspergi 
me,  O  Signor"  the  bishop  sprinkled  the  doge  and  his 
court  with  holy  water,  pouring  what  remained  into  the 
sea.  A  very  touching  ceremonial,  more  primitive  and 
simple,  perhaps  more  real  and  likely  to  go  to  the  hearts 
of  the  seafaring  population  all  gathered  round,  than  the 
more  elaborate  and  triumphant  histrionic  spectacle  of  the 
Sposalizio.  It  had  been  on  Ascension  Day  that  Orseolo's 
expedition  had  set  forth,  and  no  day  could  be  more  suit- 
able than  this  victorious  day  of  early  summer,  when 
Nature  is  at  her  sweetest,  for  the  great  festival  of  the 
lagoons. 

These  victories  and  successes  must  have  spread  the 
name  of  the  Venetians  and  their  doge  far  and  wide;  and 
it  is  evident  that  they  had  moved  the  imagination  of  the 
young  Emperor  Otto  II.,  between  whom  and  Orseolo  a 
link  of  union  had  already  been  formed  through  the  doge's 
third  son,  who  had  been  sent  to  the  court  at  Verona  to 
receive  there  the  sacramento  della  chrisma,  the  rite  of 
confirmation,  under  the  auspices  of  the  emperor,  who 
changed  the  boy's  name  from  Pietro  to  Otto,  in  sign  of 
high  favor  and  affection.  When  the  news  of  the  con- 
quest of  Dalmatia,  the  extinction  of  the  pirates,  and  all 
the  doge's  great  achievements  reached  the  emperor's  ears, 
his  desire  to  know  so  remarkable  a  man  grew  so  strong 
that  an  anonymous  visit  was  planned  between  them. 
Under  the  pretext  of  taking  sea-baths  at  an  obscure 


l6  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

island,  Otto  made  a  sudden  and  secret  dash  across  the 
sea  and  reached  the  convent  of  San  Servolo,  on  the 
island  which  still  bears  that  name,  and  which  is  now  one 
of  the  two  melancholy  asylums  for  the  insane  which 
stand  on  either  side  of  the  water-way  opposite  Venice. 
The  doge  hurried  across  the  water  as  soon  as  night  had 
come,  to  see  his  imperial  visitor,  and  brought  him  back 
to  pay  his  devotions,  " according  to  Otto's  habit,"  at  the 
shrine  of  San  Marco.  Let  us  hope  the  moon  was 
resplendent,  as  she  knows  how  to  be  over  those  waters, 
when  the  doge  brought  the  emperor  over  the  shining 
lagoon  in  what  primitive  form  of  gondola  was  then  in 
fashion,  with  the  dark  forms  of  the  rowers  standing  out 
against  the  silvery  background  of  sea  and  sky,  and  the 
little  waves  in  a  thousand  ripples  of  light  reflecting  the 
glory  of  the  heavens.  One  can  imagine  the  nocturnal 
visit,  the  hasty  preparations;  and  the  great  darkness  of 
San  Marco,  half  built,  with  all  its  scaffoldings  ghostly  in 
the  silence  of  the  night,  and  one  bright  illuminated  spot, 
the  hasty  blaze  of  the  candles  flaring  about  the  shrine. 
When  the  emperor  had  said  his  prayers  before  the  sacred 
spot  which  contained  the  body  of  the  Evangelist,  the 
patron  of  Venice,  he  was  taken  into  the  palace,  which 
filled  him  with  wonder  and  admiration,  so  beautiful  was 
the  house  which  out  of  the  burning  and  ruins  of  twenty 
years  before  had  now  apparently  been  completed.  It  is 
said  by  Sagornino  (the  best  authority)  that  Otto  was 
secretly  lodged  in  the  eastern  tower,  and  from  thence 
made  private  expeditions  into  the  city,  and  saw  every- 
thing; but  later  chroniclers,  probably  deriving  these 
details  from  traditional  sources,  increase  the  romance  of 
the  visit  by  describing  him  as  recrossing  to  San  Servolo, 
whither  the  doge  would  steal  off  privately  every  night  to 
sup  domesticamente  with  his  guest.  In  one  of  the  night 
visits  to  San  Marco  the  doge's  little  daughter,  newly 
born,  was  christened,  the  emperor  himself  holding  her 
at  the  font.  Perhaps  this  little  domestic  circumstance, 
which  disabled  her  Serenity  the  Dogaressa,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  secrecy  of  the  visit,  which  does  not 
seem  sufficiently  accounted  for,  unless,  as  some  opine, 
the  emperor  wanted  secretly  to  consult  Orseolo  on  great 
plans  which  he  did  not  live  to  carry  out.  Three  days 
after  Otto's  departure  the  doge  called  the  people  together 


THE    DOGES.  17 

and  informed  them  of  the  visit  he  had  received,  and 
further  concessions  and  privileges  which  he  had  secured 
for  Venice.  "Which  things,"  says  the  record,  "were 
pleasant  to  them,  and  they  applauded  the  industry  of 
Orseolo  in  concealing  the  presence  of  so  great  a  lord." 
Here  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  follow  the  narrator.  It 
would  be  more  natural  to  suppose  that  the  Venetians, 
always  fond  of  a  show,  might  have  shown  a  little  disap- 
pointment at  being  deprived  of  the  sight  of  such  a  fine 
visitor.  It  is  said  by  some,  however,  that  to  celebrate 
the  great  event,  and  perhaps  make  up  to  the  people  for 
not  having  seen  the  emperor,  a  tournament  of  several 
days'  duration  was  held  by  Orseolo  in  the  waste  ground 
which  is  now  the  Piazza.  At  all  events  the  incident  only 
increased  his  popularity. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  honor  which  came  to  his  house. 
Some  time  after  the  city  of  Bari  was  saved  by  Orseolo's 
arms  and  valor  from  an  invasion  of  the  Saracens;  and 
the  grateful  emperors  of  the  East,  Basil  and  Constantine, 
by  way  of  testifying  their  thanks,  invited  the  doge's 
eldest  son  Giovanni  to  Constantinople,  where  he  was 
received  with  a  princely  welcome,  and  shortly  after  mar- 
ried to  a  princess  of  the  imperial  house.  When  the  young 
couple  returned  to  Venice  they  were  received  with  extraor- 
dinary honors,  festivities,  and  delight;  the  doge  going 
to  meet  them  with  a  splendid  train  of  vessels,  and  such 
rejoicing  as  had  never  before  been  beheld  in  Venice. 
And  permission  was  given  to  Orseolo  to  associate  his  son 
with  him  in  his  authority — a  favor  only  granted  to  those 
whom  Venice  most  delighted  to  honor,  and  which  was 
the  highest  expression  of  popular  confidence  and  trust. 

''But  since  there  is  no  human  happiness  which  is  not 
disturbed  by  some  adversity,"  says  the  sympathetic 
chronicle,  trouble  and  sorrow  now  burst  upon  this  happy 
and  prosperous  reign.  First  came  a  great  pestilence,  by 
which  the  young  Giovanni,  the  hope  of  the  house,  the 
newly  appointed  coadjutor,  was  carried  off,  along  with 
his  wife  and  infant  child,  and  which  carried  dismay  and 
loss  throughout  the  city.  Famine  followed  naturally 
upon  the  epidemic  and  the  accompanying  panic,  which 
paralyzed  all  exertion — and  mourning  and  misery  pre- 
vailed. His  domestic  grief  and  the  public  misfortune 
would  seem  to  have  broken  the  heart  of  the  great  doge. 


l8  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

After  Giovanni's  death  he  was  permitted  to  take  his 
younger  son  Otto  as  his  coadjutor,  but  even  this  did  not 
avail  to  comfort  him.  He  made  a  remarkable  will,  divid- 
ing his  goods  into  two  parts,  one  for  his  children,  another 
for  the  poor,  "for  the  use  and  solace  of  all  in  our 
republic  " — a  curious  phrase,  by  some  supposed  to  mean 
entertainments  and  public  pleasures,  by  others  relief 
from  taxes  and  public  burdens.  When  he  died  his  body 
was  carried  to  San  Zaccaria,  per  la  trista  citta  e  lachrimosa, 
with  all  kinds  of  magnificence  and  honor.  And  Otto  his 
son  reigned  in  his  stead. 

Otto,  it  is  evident,  must  have  appeared  up  to  this  time 
the  favorite  of  fortune,  the  flower  of  the  Orseoli.  He 
had  been  half  adopted  by  the  emperor;  he  had  made  a 
magnificent  marriage  with  a  princess  of  Hungary;  he  had 
been  sent  on  embassies  and  foreign  missions;  and  finally, 
when  his  elder  brother  died,  he  had  been  associated  with 
his  father  as  his  coadjutor  and  successor.  He  was  still 
young  when  Pietro's  death  gave  him  the  full  authority 
(though  his  age  can  scarcely  have  been,  as  Sabellico  says, 
nineteen).  His  character  is  said  to  have  been  as  perfect 
as  his  position.  "  He  was  Catholic  in  faith,  calm  in 
virtue,  strong  in  justice,  eminent  in  religion,  decorous 
in  his  way  of  living,  great  in  riches,  and  so  full  of  all 
kinds  of  goodness  that  by  his  merits  he  was  judged 
of  all  to  be  the  most  fit  successor  of  his  excellent  father 
and  blessed  grandfather,"  says  Doge  Dandolo.  But  per- 
haps these  abstract  virtues  were  not  of  the  kind  to  fit  a 
man  for  the  difficult  position  of  doge,  in  the  midst  of  a 
jealous  multitude  of  his  equals,  all  as  eligible  for  that 
throne  as  he,  and  keenly  on  the  watch  to  stop  any  suc- 
cession which  looked  like  the  beginning  of  a  dynasty. 
Otto  had  been  much  about  courts;  he  had  learned  how 
emperors  were  served;  and  his  habits,  perhaps,  had  been 
formed  at  that  ductile  time  of  life  when  he  was  caressed 
as  the  godson  of  the  imperial  Otto,  and  as  a  near  con- 
nection of  the  still  more  splendid  emperors  of  the  East. 
And  it  was  not  only  he,  whose  preferment  was  a  direct 
proof  of  national  gratitude  to  his  noble  father,  against 
whom  a  jealous  rival,  a  (perhaps)  anxious  nationalist,  had 
to  guard.  His  brother  Orso,  who  during  his  father's  life- 
time had  been  made  Bishop  of  Torcello,  was  elevated  to 
the  higher  office  of  patriarch  and  transferred  to  Grado 


THE    DOGES.  19 

some  years  after  his  brother's  accession,  so  that  the 
highest  power  and  place,  both  secular  and  sacred,  were 
in  the  hands  of  one  family — a  fact  which  would  give 
occasion  for  many  an  insinuation,  and  leaven  the  popular 
mind  with  suspicion  and  alarm. 

It  was  through  the  priestly  brother  Orso  that  the  first 
attack  upon  the  family  of  the  Orseoli  came.  Otto  had 
reigned  for  some  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  with  advantage 
and  honor  to  the  republic,  showing  himself  a  worthy  son 
of  his  father,  and  keeping  the  authority  of  Venice  para- 
mount along  the  unruly  Dalmatian  coast,  where  rebellions 
were  things  of  yearly  occurrence,  when  trouble  first 
appeared.  Of  Orso,  the  patriarch,  up  to  this  time,  little 
has  been  heard,  save  that  it  was  he  who  rebuilt,  or 
restored,  out  of  the  remains  of  the  earlier  church,  the 
cathedral  of  Torcello,  still  the  admiration  of  all  beholders. 
His  grandfather  had  begun,  his  father  had  carried  on, 
the  great  buildings  of  Venice,  the  church  and  the  palace, 
which  the  Emperor  Otto  had  come  secretly  to  see,  and 
which  he  had  found  beautiful  beyond  all  imagination.  It 
would  be  difficult  now  to  determine  what  corner  of 
antique  work  may  still  remain  in  that  glorious  group 
which  is  theirs.  But  Orso's  cathedral  still  stands  dis- 
tinct, lifting  its  lofty  walls  over  the  low  edge  of  green, 
which  is  all  that  separates  it  from  the  sea.  His  foot  has 
trod  the  broken  mosaics  of  the  floor;  his  voice  has 
intoned  canticle  and  litany  under  that  lofty  roof.  The 
knowledge  that  framed  the  present  edifice,  the  reverence 
which  preserved  for  its  decoration  all  those  lovely  relics 
of  earlier  times,  the  delicate  Greek  columns,  the  enrich- 
ments of  Eastern  art — were,  if  not  his,  fostered  and  pro- 
tected by  him.  Behind  the  high  altar,  on  the  bishop's 
high  cold  marble  throne  overlooking  the  great  temple,  he 
must  have  sat  among  his  presbyters,  and  controlled  the 
counsels  and  led  the  decisions  of  a  community  then  active 
and  wealthy,  which  has  now  disappeared  as  completely  as 
the  hierarchy  of  priests  which  once  filled  those  rows  of 
stony  benches.  The  ruins  of  the  old  Torcello  are  now 
but  mounds  under  the  damp  grass;  but  Bishop  Orso's 
work  stands  fast,  as  his  name,  in  faithful  brotherly 
allegiance  and  magnanimous  truth  to  his  trust,  ought  to 
stand. 

The  attack  came  from  a  certain  Poppo,  Patriarch  of 


20  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Aquileia,  an  ecclesiastic  of  the  most  warlike  mediaeval 
type,  of  German  extraction  or  race,  who,  perhaps  with 
the  desire  of  reasserting  the  old  supremacy  of  his  see 
over  that  of  Grado,  perhaps  stirred  up  by  the  factions 
in  Venice,  which  were  beginning  to  conspire  against  the 
Orseoli,  began  to  threaten  the  seat  of  Bishop  Orso.  The 
records  are  very  vague  as  to  the  means  employed  by  this 
episcopal  warrior.  He  accused  Orso  before  the  Pope  as 
an  intruder  not  properly  elected;  but,  without  waiting 
for  any  decision  on  that  point,  assailed  him  in  his  see. 
Possibly  Poppo's  attack  on  Grado  coincided  with  tumults 
in  the  city, — "great  discord  between  the  people  of  Venice 
and  the  doge," — so  that  both  the  brothers  were  threatened 
at  once.  However  that  may  be,  the  next  event  in  the 
history  is  the  flight  of  both  doge  and  patriarch  to  Istria — 
an  extraordinary  event,  of  which  no  explanation  is  given 
by  any  of  the  authorities.  They  were  both  in  the  prime 
of  life,  and  had  still  a  great  party  in  their  favor,  so  that 
it  seems  impossible  not  to  conjecture  some  weakness, 
most  likely  on  the  part  of  the  Doge  Otto,  to  account  for 
this  abandonment  of  the  position  to  their  enemies.  That 
there  were  great  anarchy  and  misery  in  Venice  during 
the  interval  of  the  prince's  absence  is  evident,  but  how 
long  it  lasted,  or  how  it  came  about,  we  are  not  informed. 
All  that  the  chroniclers  say  (for  by  this  time  the  guidance 
of  Sagornino  has  failed  us,  and  there  is  no  contemporary 
chronicle  to  refer  to)  concerns  Grado,  which,  in  the 
absence  of  its  bishop,  was  taken  by  the  lawless  Poppo. 
He  swore  "by  his  eight  oaths,"  says  Sanudo,  that  he 
meant  nothing  but  good  to  that  hapless  city;  but  as  soon 
as  he  got  within  the  gates  gave  it  up  to  the  horrors  of  a 
sack,  outraging  its  population  and  removing  the  treasure 
from  its  churches.  Venice,  alarmed  by  this  unmasking 
of  the  designs  of  the  clerical  invader,  repented  her  own 
hasty  folly,  and  recalled  her  doge,  who  recovered  Grado 
for  her  with  a  promptitude  and  courage  which  make  his 
flight,  without  apparently  striking  a  blow  for  himself, 
more  remarkable  still.  But  this  renewed  prosperity  was 
of  short  duration.  The  factions  that  had  arisen  against 
him  were  but  temporarily  quieted,  and  as  soon  as  Grado 
and  peace  were  restored,  broke  out  again.  The  second 
time  Otto  would  not  seem  to  have  had  time  to  fly.  He 
was  seized  by  his  enemies,  his  beard  shaven  off, — whether 


THE    DOGES.  21 

as  a  sign  of  contempt,  or  by  way  of  consigning  him  to 
the  cloister,  that  asylum  for  dethroned  princes,  we  are 
not  told, — and  his  reign  thus  ignominiously  and  suddenly 
brought  to  an  end. 

The  last  chapter  in  the  history  of  the  Orseoli  is,  how- 
ever, the  most  touching  of  all.  Whatever  faults  Otto 
may  have  had  (and  the  chroniclers  will  allow  none),  he 
at  least  possessed  the  tender  love  of  his  family.  The 
Patriarch  Orso  once  more  followed  him  into  exile;  but 
coming  back  as  soon  as  safety  permitted,  would  seem  to 
have  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  righting  his  brother. 
Venice  had  not  thriven  upon  her  ingratitude  and  disorder. 
A  certain  Domenico  Centranico,  the  enemy  of  the  Orseoli, 
had  been  hastily  raised  to  the  doge's  seat,  but  could  not 
restore  harmony.  Things  went  badly  on  all  sides  for 
the  agitated  and  insubordinate  city.  The  new  emperor, 
Conrad,  refused  to  ratify  the  usual  grant  of  privileges, 
perhaps  because  he  had  no  faith  in  the  revolutionary 
government.  Poppo  renewed  his  attacks,  the  Dalma- 
tian cities  seized,  as  they  invariably  did,  the  occasion  to 
rebel.  And  the  new  doge  was  evidently,  like  so  many 
other  revolutionists,  stronger  in  rebellion  than  in  defense 
of  his  country.  What  with  these  griefs  and  agitations, 
which  contrasted  strongly  with  the  benefits  of  peace  at 
home  and  an  assured  government,  what  with  the  plead- 
ings of  the  patriarch,  the  Venetians  once  more  recognized 
their  mistake.  The  changing  of  the  popular  mind  in 
those  days  always  required  a  victim,  and  Doge  Centranico 
was  in  his  turn  seized,  shaven,  and  banished.  The  crisis 
recalls  the  primitive  chapters  of  Venetian  history,  when 
almost  every  reign  ended  in  tumult  and  murder.  But 
Venice  had  learned  the  advantages  of  law  and  order,  and 
the  party  of  the  Orseoli  recovered  power  in  the  revulsion 
of  popular  feeling.  The  dishonored  but  rightful  doge 
was  in  Constantinople,  hiding  his  misfortunes  in  some 
cloister  or  other  resort  of  the  exile.  The  provisional 
rulers  of  the  republic,  whoever  they  might  be — probably 
the  chief  supporters  of  the  Orseoli — found  nothing  so 
advantageous  to  still  the  tempest  as  to  implore  the 
Patriarch  Orso  to  fill  his  brother's  place,  while  they  sent 
a  commission  to  Constantinople  to  find  Otto  and  bring 
him  home.  The  faithful  priest  who  had  worked  so  loyally 
for  the  exile  accepted  the  charge,  and  leaving  his  bishopric 


22  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

and  its  administration  to  his  deputies,  established  him- 
self in  the  palace  where  he  had  been  born,  and  took  the 
government  of  Venice  into  his  hands.  It  was  work  to 
the  routine  of  which  he  had  been  used  all  his  life,  and 
probably  no  man  living  was  so  well  able  to  perform  it; 
and  it  might  be  supposed  that  the  natural  ambition  of  a 
Venetian  and  a  member  of  a  family  which  had  reigned 
over  Venice  for  three  generations  would  stir  even  in  a 
churchman's  veins,  when  he  found  the  government  of 
his  native  state  in  his  hands;  for  the  consecration  of  the 
priesthood,  however  it  may  extinguish  all  other  passions, 
has  never  been  known  altogether  to  quench  that  last 
infirmity  of  noble  minds. 

Peace  and  order  followed  the  advent  of  the  bishop- 
prince  to  power.  And  meanwhile  the  embassy  set  out, 
with  a  third  brother,  Vitale,  the  Bishop  of  Torcello,  at  its 
head,  to  prove  to  the  banished  Otto  that  Venice  meant 
well  by  him,  and  that  the  ambassadors  intended  no 
treachery.  Whether  they  were  detained  by  the  hazards 
of  the  sea,  or  whether  their  time  was  employed  in  search- 
ing out  the  retirement  where  the  deposed  doge  had 
withdrawn  to  die,  the  voyage  of  the  embassy  occupied 
more  than  a  year,  coming  and  going.  During  these  long 
months  Orso  reigned  in  peace.  Though  he  was  only 
vice-doge,  says  Sanuda,  for  the  justice  of  his  government 
he  was  placed  by  the  Venetians  in  the  catalogue  of  the 
doges.  Not  a  word  of  censure  is  recorded  of  his  peace- 
ful sway.  The  storm  seems  changed  to  a  calm  under 
the  rule  of  this  faithful  priest.  In  the  splendor  of 
those  halls  which  his  fathers  had  built  he  watched — 
over  Venice  on  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  for 
the  ships  sailing  back  across  the  lagoons,  bringing  the 
banished  Otto  home.  How  many  a  morning  must  he 
have  looked  out,  before  he  said  his  Mass,  upon  the  rising 
dawn,  and  watched  the  blueness  of  the  skies  and  seas 
grow  clear  in  the  east,  where  lay  his  bishopric,  his  flock, 
his  cathedral,  and  all  the  duties  that  were  his;  and  with 
anxious  eyes  swept  the  winding  of  the  level  waters,  still 
and  gray,  the  metallic  glimmer  of  the  acqua  morta,  the 
navigable  channels  that  gleamed  between.  When  a  sail 
came  in  sight  between  those  lines,  stealing  up  from 
Malamocco,  what  expectations  must  have  moved  his 
heart!  He  was,  it  would  appear,  a  little  older  than  Otto, 


THE   DOGES.  23 

his  next  brother — perhaps  his  early  childish  caretaker, 
before  thrones  episcopal  or  secular  were  dreamed  of  for 
the  boys;  and  a  priest,  who  has  neither  wife  nor  children 
of  his  own,  has  double  room  in  his  heart  for  the  passion 
of  fraternity.  It  would  not  seem  that  Orso  took  more 
power  upon  him  than  was  needful  for  the  interests  of  the 
people;  there  is  no  record  of  war  in  his  brief  sway.  He 
struck  a  small  coin,  una  moneta  piccola  d'argento,  called 
ursiolo,  but  did  nothing  else  save  keep  peace,  and  preserve 
his  brother's  place  for  him.  But  when  the  ships  came 
back,  their  drooping  banners  and  mourning  array  must 
have  told  the  news  long  before  they  cast  anchor  in  the 
lagoon.  Otto  was  dead  in  exile.  There  is  nothing  said 
to  intimate  that  they  had  brought  back  even  his  body  to 
lay  it  with  his  fathers  in  San  Zaccaria.  The  banished 
prince  had  found  an  exile's  grave. 

After  this  sad  end  to  his  hopes  the  noble  Orso  showed 
how  magnanimous  and  disinterested  had  been  his  inspira- 
tion. Not  for  himself,  but  for  Otto  he  had  held  that 
trust.  He  laid  down  at  once  those  honors  which  were 
not  his,  and  returned  to  his  own  charge  and  duties.  His 
withdrawal  closes  the  story  of  the  family  with  a  dignity 
and  decorum  worthy  of  a  great  race.  His  disappoint- 
ment, the  failure  of  all  the  hopes  of  the  family,  all  the 
anticipations  of  brotherly  affection,  have  no  record,  but 
who  can  doubt  that  they  were  bitter?  Misfortune  more 
undeserved  never  fell  upon  an  honorable  house,  and  it  is 
hard  to  tell  which  is  most  sad — the  death  of  the  deposed 
prince  in  the  solitude  of  that  eastern  world  where  all  was 
alien  to  him,  or,  after  a  brief  resurrection  of  hope,  the 
withdrawal  of  the  faithful  brother,  his  heart  sick  with  all 
the  wistful  vicissitudes  of  a  baffled  expectation,  to  resume 
his  bishopric  and  his  life  as  best  he  could.  It  is  a  pathetic 
ending  to  a  noble  and  glorious  day. 

Many  years  after  this  Orso  still  held  his  patriarchate 
in  peace  and  honor,  and  the  name  of  the  younger  brother, 
Vitale,  his  successor  at  Torcello,  appears  as  a  member 
along  with  him  of  an  ecclesiastical  council  for  the  reform 
of  discipline  and  doctrine  in  the  Church;  while  their 
sister  Felicia  is  mentioned  as  abbess  of  one  of  the  con- 
vents at  Torcello.  But  the  day  of  the  Orseoli  was  over. 
A  member  of  the  family,  Domenico,  "a  near  relation," 
made  an  audacious  attempt  in  the  agitation  that  followed 


24  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

the  withdrawal  of  Orso  to  seize  the  supreme  power,  and 
was  favored  by  many,  the  chroniclers  say.  But  his 
attempt  was  unsuccessful,  and  his  usurpation  lasted  only 
a  day.  The  leader  of  the  opposing  party,  Flabenico,  was 
elected  doge  in  the  reaction,  which  doubtless  this  foolish 
effort  of  ambition  stimulated  greatly.  And  perhaps  it 
was  this  reason  also  which  moved  the  people,  startled 
into  a  new  scare  by  their  favorite  bugbear  of  dynastic 
succession,  to  consent  to  the  cruel  and  most  ungrateful 
condemnation  of  the  Orseoli  family  which  followed;  and 
by  which  the  race  was  sentenced  to  be  denuded  of  all 
rights,  and  pronounced  incapable  henceforward  of  hold- 
ing any  office  under  the  republic.  The  prohibition 
would  seem  to  have  been  of  little  practical  importance, 
since  of  the  children  of  Pietro  Orseolo  the  Great  there 
remained  none  except  priests  and  nuns,  whose  indignation, 
when  the  news  reached  them,  must  have  been  as  great  as 
it  was  impotent.  We  may  imagine  with  what  swelling 
hearts  they  must  have  met,  in  the  shadow  of  that  great 
sanctuary  which  they  had  built,  the  two  bishops,  one  of 
whom  had  been  doge  in  Venice,  and  the  abbess  in  her 
convent,  with  perhaps  a  humbler  nun  or  two  of  the  same 
blood  behind,  separated  only  by  the  still  levels  of  the 
lagoon,  from  where  the  towers  and  spires  of  Venice  rose 
from  the  bosom  of  the  waters — Venice,  their  birthplace, 
the  home  of  their  glory,  from  which  their  race  was  now 
shut  out.  If  any  curse  of  Rome  trembled  from  their 
lips,  if  any  appeal  for  anathema  and  excommunication, 
who  could  have  wondered?  But,  like  other  wrongs,  that 
great  popular  ingratitude  faded  away,  and  the  burning 
of  the  hearts  of  the  injured  found  no  expression.  The 
three  consecrated  members  of  the  doomed  family,  per- 
haps sad  enough  once  at  the  failure  of  the  succession, 
must  have  found  a  certain  bitter  satisfaction  then,  in  the 
thought  that  their  Otto,  deposed  and  dead,  had  left  no 
child  behind  him. 

But  the  voice  of  history  has  taken  up  the  cause  of  this 
ill-rewarded  race.  The  chroniclers  with  one  voice  pro- 
claim the  honor  of  the  Orseoli,  with  a  visionary  partisan- 
ship in  which  the  present  writer  cannot  but  share,  though 
eight  centuries  have  come  and  gone  since  Venice  abjured 
the  family  which  had  served  her  so  well.  Sabellico  tells, 
with  indignant  satisfaction,  that  he  can  find  nothing  to 


THE   DOGES.  25 

record  that  is  worth  the  trouble,  of  Flabenico,  their 
enemy,  except  that  he  grew  old  and  died.  Non  ragionam 
di  lor.  The  insignificant  and  envious  rival,  who  brings 
ruin  to  the  last  survivors  of  a  great  race,  is  unworthy 
further  comment. 

Such  proscriptions,  however,  are  rarely  so  successful. 
The  Orseoli  disappear  altogether  from  history,  and  their 
name  during  all  the  historic  ages  scarcely  once  is  heard 
again  in  Venice.  Domenico,  the  audacious  usurper  of  a 
day,  died  at  Ravenna  very  shortly  after.  Even  their 
great  buildings,  with  the  exception  of  Torcello,  have  dis- 
appeared under  the  splendor  of  later  ornament  or  more 
recent  construction.  Their  story  has  the  completeness  of 
an  epic — they  lived,  and  ruled,  and  conquered,  and  made 
Venice  great.  Under  their  sway  she  became  the  mistress 
of  the  sea.  And  then  it  was  evident  that  they  had  com- 
pleted their  mission,  and  the  race  came  to  an  end;  receiv- 
ing its  dismissal  in  the  course  of  nature  from  those 
whom  it  had  best  served.  Few  families  thus  recognize 
the  logic  of  circumstances;  they  linger  out  in  paltry 
efforts — in  attempts  to  reverse  the  sentence  pronounced 
by  the  ingratitude  of  the  fickle  mob,  or  any  other  tyrant 
with  whom  they  may  have  to  do.  But  whether  with 
their  own  will  or  against  it,  the  Orseoli  made  no  struggle. 
They  allowed  their  story  to  be  completed  in  one  chapter 
and  to  come  to  a  picturesque  and  effective  end. 

It  will  be  recognized,  however,  that  Torcello  is  a 
powerful  exception  to  the  extinction  of  all  relics  of  the 
race.  The  traveler  as  he  stands  with  something  of  the 
sad  respect  of  pity  mingling  in  his  admiration  of  that 
great  and  noble  cathedral,  built  for  the  use  of  a  populous 
and  powerful  community,  but  now  left  to  a  few  rough 
fishermen  and  pallid  women,  amid  the  low  and  marshy 
fields,  a  poor  standing  ground  among  the  floods,  takes 
little  thought  of  him  who  reared  its  lofty  walls,  and  com- 
bined new  and  old  together  in  so  marvelous  a  conjunc- 
tion. Even  the  greatest  of  all  the  modern  adorers  who 
have  idealized  old  Venice,  and  sung  litanies  to  some 
chosen  figures  among  her  sons,  has  not  a  word  for  Orso 
or  his  race.  And  no  tradition  remains  to  celebrate  his 
name.  But  the  story  of  this  tender  brother,  the  banished 
doge's  defender,  champion,  substitute,  and  mourner — he 
who  reigned  for  Otto,  and  for  himself  neither  sought  nor 


26  THE   MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

accepted  anything — is  worthy  of  the  scene.  Greatness 
has  faded  from  the  ancient  commune  as  it  faded  from  the 
family  of  their  bishop;  and  Torcello,  like  the  Orseoli, 
may  seem  to  a  fantastic  eye  to  look,  through  all  the 
round  of  endless  days,  wistfully  yet  with  no  grudge, 
across  the  level  waste  of  the  salt  sea  water  to  that  great 
line  of  Venice  against  the  western  sky  which  has  carried 
her  life  away.  The  church,  with  its  marbles  and  for- 
gotten inscriptions;  its  mournful,  great  Madonna  holding 
out  her  arms  to  all  her  children;  its  profound  loneliness 
and  sentinelship  through  all  the  ages,  acquires  yet  an- 
other not  uncongenial  association  when  we  think  of  the 
noble  and  unfortunate  race  which  here  died  out  in  the 
silence  of  the  cloister,  amid  murmurs  of  solemn  psalms, 
and  whispering  Amens  from  the  winds  and  from  the  sea. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   MICHIELI. 

IT  is  of  course  impossible  to  give  here  a  continuous 
history  of  the  doges.  To  trace  the  first  appearance  of 
one  after  another  of  the  historic  names  so  familiar  to  our 
ears  would  be  a  task  full  of  interest,  but  far  too  exten- 
sive for  the  present  undertaking.  All  that  we  can  at- 
tempt to  do  is  to  take  up  a  prominent  figure  here  and 
there,  to  mark  the  successive  crises  and  developments 
of  history  and  the  growth  of  the  Venetian  constitution, 
involved  as  it  is  in  the  action  and  influence  of  successive 
princes,  or  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  one  or  other  of  the 
family  groups  which  add  an  individual  interest  to  the 
general  story.  Among  these,  less  for  the  importance  of 
the  house  than  for  the  greatness  of  one  of  its  members, 
the  Michieli  find  a  prominent  place.  The  first  doge  of 
the  name  was  the  grandfather,  the  third  the  son,  of  the 
great  Domenico  Michieli,  who  made  the  name  illustrious. 
Vitale  Michiel  the  first  (the  concluding  vowel  is  cut  off, 
according  to  familiar  use  in  many  Venetian  names — 
Cornaro  being  pronounced  Cornar;  Loredano,  Loredan; 
and  so  forth)  came  to  the  dignity  of  doge  in  1096,  more 
than  a  century  later  than  the  accession  of  the  Orseoli  to 
power.  In  the  meantime  there  had  been  much  progress 
in  Venice.  We  reach  the  limits  within  which  general 
history  begins  to  become  clear.  Every  day  the  great 
republic,  though  still  in  infancy,  emerges  more  and 
more  distinct  from  the  morning  mists.  And  the  acces- 
sion of  Vitale  Michieli  brings  us  abreast  of  information 
from  other  sources.  He  came  to  the  chief  magistracy  at 
the  time  when  all  Europe  was  thrilling  with  the  excite- 
ment of  the  first  Crusade,  and  the  great  maritime  towns 
of  Italy  began  to  vie  with  each  other  in  offering  the  means 
of  transit  to  the  pilgrims.  How  it  happens  that  the 
Venetian  chroniclers  have  left  this  part  of  their  history 
in  darkness,  and  gathered  so  few  details  of  a  period  so 
important,  is  the  standing  wonder  of  historical  students. 


28  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

But  so  it  is.  A  wave  of  new  life  must  have  swept  through 
the  city,  with  all  its  wealth  of  galleys,  which  lay  so 
directly  in  the  way  between  the  east  and  west,  and  trade 
must  have  quickened  and  prosperity  increased.  All  that 
we  hear,  however,  from  Venetian  sources  is  vague  and 
general;  and  it  was  not  until  after  the  taking  of  Jerusalem 
that  the  doge  felt  himself  impelled  to  join  "  that  holy  and 
praiseworthy  undertaking";  and  assembling  the  people 
proposed  to  them  the  formation  of  an  Armada,  not  only 
for  the  primary  object  of  the  Crusade,  but  in  order  that 
Venice  might  not  show  herself  backward  where  the  Pisans 
and  Genoese  had  both  acquired  reputation  and  wealth. 

The  expedition  thus  fitted  out  was  commanded  by  his 
son  Giovanni,  with  the  aid  of  a  spiritual  coadjutor  in  the 
person  of  Enrico  Contarini,  Bishop  of  Castello;  but  does 
not  seem  to  have  accomplished  much  except  in  the  search 
for  relics,  which  were  tnen  the  great  object  of  Venetian 
ambition.  A  curious  story  is  told  of  this  expedition  and 
of  the  bishop-commodore,  who,  performing  his  devotions 
before  his  departure  at  the  church  on  the  Lido,  dedicated 
to  San  Niccolo,  made  it  the  special  object  of  his  prayers 
that  he  might  find,  when  on  his  travels,  the  body  of  the 
saint.  Whether  the  determination  to  have  this  prayer 
granted  operated  in  other  methods  more  practical  cannot 
be  told;  but  certain  it  is  that  Bishop  Contarini  one  fine 
morning  suddenly  called  upon  the  fleet  to  stop  in  front  of 
a  little  town  which  was  visible  on  the  top  of  the  cliffs 
near  the  city  of  Mira.  The  squadron  paused  in  full 
career,  no  doubt  with  many  an  inquiry  from  the  gazing 
crowds  in  the  other  vessels  not  near  enough  to  see  what 
the  admiral  would  be  at,  or  what  was  the  meaning  of  the 
sudden  landing  of  a  little  band  of  explorers  on  the  peace- 
ful coast.  The  little  town,  una  citta,  a  place  without  a 
name,  was  found  almost  abandoned  of  its  inhabitants, 
having  been  ravaged  by  some  recent  corsair,  Turk  or 
Croat.  The  explorers,  joined  by  many  a  boat's  crew  as 
soon  as  the  other  vessels  saw  that  some  adventure  was 
on  hand,  found  a  church  dedicated  also  to  San  Niccolo, 
which  they  immediately  began  to  examine,  not  too  gently, 
pulling  down  walls  and  altars  to  find  the  sacred  booty  of 
which  they  were  in  search,  and  even  putting  to  torture 
the  guardians  of  the  church  who  would  not  betray  its 
secrets.  Finding  nothing  better  to  be  done,  they  took 


THE    DOGES.  29 

at  last  two  bodies  of  saints  of  lesser  importance,  St. 
Theodore  to  wit,  and  a  second  San  Niccolo,  uncle  of  the 
greater  saint — and  prepared,  though  with  little  satisfac- 
tion, to  regain  their  ships:  The  bishop,  however, 
lingered,  praying  and  weeping  behind,  with  no  compunc- 
tion apparently  as  to  the  tortured  guardians  of  St.  Nicho- 
las, but  much  dislike  to  be  balked  in  his  own  ardent 
desire;  when  lo!  all  at  once  there  arose  a  fragrance  as  of 
all  the  flowers  of  June,  and  the  pilgrims,  hastily  crowd- 
ing back  to  see  what  wonderful  thing  was  about  to  take 
place,  found  themselves  drawn  toward  a  certain  altar, 
apparently  overlooked  before,  where  St.  Nicholas  really 
lay.  One  wonders  whether  the  saint  was  flattered  by  the 
violence  of  his  abductors,  as  women  are  said  to  be — yet 
cannot  but  feel  that  it  was  hard  upon  the  poor  tortured 
custodians,  the  old  and  faithful  servants  who  would  not 
betray  their  trust,  to  see  the  object  of  their  devotion  thus 
favor  the  invaders.  This  story  Romanin  assures  us  is 
told  by  a  contemporary.  Dandolo  gives  another  very 
similar,  adding  that  his  own  ancestor,  a  Dandolo,  was 
captain  of  the  ship  which  carried  back  the  prize. 

This  would  seem  to  have  been  the  chief  glory,  though 
but  at  second  hand,  of  Vitale  Michieli's  reign.  The  due 
corpi  di  San  Niccolo,  the  great  and  small,  were  placed 
with  great  joy  in  San  Niccolo  del  Lido,  and  that  of  St. 
Theodore  deposited  in  the  Church  of  San  Salvatore. 
The  brief  account  of  the  Crusade  given  by  Sanudo  reveals 
to  us  a  hungry  search  for  relics  on  the  part  of  the  Vene- 
tian contingent,  varied  by  quarrels,  which  speedily  came 
to  blows,  with  the  Pisans  and  Genoese,  their  rivals  at 
sea,  but  little  more.  Nor  is  it  apparent  that  the  life  of 
the  Doge  Vitale  was  more  distinguished  at  home.  He 
died,  after  a  reign  of  about  five  years,  in  the  end  of  the 
first  year  of  the  twelfth  century,  and  for  a  generation  we 
hear  of  the  family  no  more. 

His  successor,  Ordelafo,  first  of  the  Falieri,  was  a  man 
of  great  energy  and  character.  He  was  the  founder  of 
the  great  arsenal,  which  has  always  been  of  so  much 
importance  to  Venice,  not  less  now  with  its  great  miracu- 
lous scientific  prodigies  of  ironclads,  and  its  hosts  of 
workmen,  than  when  the  pitch  boiled  and  the  hammers 
rang  for  smaller  craft  on  more  primitive  designs.  Orde- 
lafo, however,  came  to  a  violent  end  fighting  for  the  pos- 


30  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

session  of  the  continually  rebellious  city  of  Zara,  which 
from  generation  to  generation  gave  untold  trouble  to  its 
conquerors.  His  fall  carried  dismay  and  defeat  to  the 
very  hearts  of  his  followers.  The  Venetians  were  not 
accustomed  to  disaster,  and  they  were  completely  cowed 
and  broken  down  by  the  loss  at  once  of  their  leader  and 
of  the  battle.  For  a  time  it  seems  to  have  been  felt  that 
the  republic  had  lost  her  hold  upon  Dalmatia,  and  that 
the  empire  of  the  seas  was  in  danger;  and  the  dismayed 
leaders  came  home,  bringing  grief  and  despondency  with 
them.  The  city  was  so  cast  down  that  ambassadors 
were  sent  off  to  the  King  of  Hungary  to  sue  for  a  truce 
of  five  years,  and  mourning  and  alarm  filled  all  hearts. 
It  was  at  this  time  of  discomfiture  and  humiliation,  in  the 
year  1118,  that  Domenico  Michieli,  the  second  of  his 
name  to  bear  that  honor,  was  elected  doge.  In  these 
dismal  circumstances  there  seems  little  augury  of  the 
splendor  and  success  he  was  to  bring  to  Venice.  His 
first  authentic  appearance  shows  him  to  us  in  the  act  of 
preparing  another  expedition  for  the  East,  for  the  succor 
of  Baldwin,  the  second  King  of  Jerusalem,  who,  the  first 
flush  of  success  being  by  this  time  over,  had  in  his  straits 
appealed  to  the  Pope  and  to  the  republic.  The  Pope 
sent  on  Baldwin's  letters  to  Venice,  and  with  them  a 
standard  bearing  the  image  of  St.  Peter,  to  be  carried  by 
the  doge  to  battle.  Michieli  immediately  prepared  a 
Possente  armata — a  strong  expedition.  "  Then  the  people 
were  called  to  counsel,"  the  narrative  goes  on,  without 
any  ironical  meaning;  and,  after  solemn  service  in  St. 
Mark's,  the  prince  addressed  the  assembly.  The  primi- 
tive constitution  of  the  republic,  in  which  every  man 
felt  himself  the  arbiter  of  his  country's  fate,  could  not 
be  better  exemplified.  The  matter  was  already  decided, 
and  all  that  was  needful  to  carry  out  the  undertaking  was 
that  popular  movement  of  sympathy  which  a  skilled 
orator  has  so  little  difficulty  in  calling  forth.  The  people 
pressed  in  to  the  church,  where,  with  all  the  solemnity  of 
a  ritual  against  which  no  heretical  voice  had  ever  been 
raised,  the  patriarch  and  his  clergy,  in  pomp  and  splen- 
dor, celebrated,  at  the  great  altar  blazing  with  light,  the 
sacred  ceremonies.  San  Marco,  in  its  dark  splendor, 
with  that  subtle  charm  of  color  which  makes  it  unique 
among  churches,  was  probably  then  more  like  what  it  is 


Kf-2   ID 


JO  VENICE. 

y  rebellious  ci 
/tration  gave  untold  troui 
(all  carried  dismay  and  defeat  t> 
s  followers.     The  Venetians  wen 
.     disaster,  and  they  were  complete!} 
•  i  down  by  the  loss  at  once  of  their  leader 
.'.tie.     For  a  time  it  seems  to  have  been  felt  that 
•r public  had  lost  her  hold  upon  Dalmatia,  and  that 
rupire  of  the  seas  was  in  danger;  and  the  dismayed 
rs  came  home,  bringing  >:  ;  despondency  with 

them.     The  city  was   so  that  ambassadors 

were  sent  off  to  the  !  to  sue  for  a  truce 

of  five  years,  and  :  hearts. 

It  was  at  this  tin)  -KV.lh-tion,  in  the 

year   1118,  that  1  •r.-co:wj  of  his 

name  to  bear  th.  »-»»  <e)  ge.     in  these 

dismal  circum.sta  .  r   **em& 

splendor  and  see.     His 

first  auth<  ws  him  to  u*  in  the  act  of 

preparing  an-  -r  the  East,  for  the  succor 

of  Baldwin,  ti,  p,AZZA  OF  SAN  MARG^alem'  who>  the  first 
flush  of  succe>  'ver,  had  in  his  straits 

appealed  to  the   ;  th»-  republic.     The   Pope 

sent  on  Baldwin's  Venice-,   *nd  with  them  a 

..rd  bearing  the   •  i^'c',  to  be  carried  by 

!oge  to   battle.  prepared  a 

>  armata — a  stron,    ;  li  Tktn  the  people 

d  to  counsel,"  ti  •:-.  w\.  *•'.- 

Cleaning;  am),    .  -ierv •-•  :-- 

nee  addressed  t!-.?    ,• 

of   the  repu1;  v  man 

ier  of  his  1  not 

i      The  matter 

i  ^ul  to  carry  ou  y,  was 

c-nt   of  symp..  ^ch   a  skilled 

tyincalli  The  people 

vhere,  with  ail  the  solemnity  of 
gainst  w  heretical  voice  had  ever  been 

his  clergy,  in  pomp  and  splen- 
dor, <.  .!tar  blazing  with  light,  the 
sacrec                                      Marco,    in  its   dark  splendor, 
with  that  subtle  charm  of  color  which  makes 
among  churches,  was  probably  then  more  like  *hat  it  is 


THE   DOGES.  31 

now  than  was  any  other  part  of  Venice — especially  when 
filled  with  that  surging  sea  of  eager  faces  all  turned 
toward  the  brilliant  glow  of  the  altar.  And  those  who 
have  seen  the  great  Venetian  temple  of  to-day,  full  of  the 
swaying  movement  and  breath  of  a  crowd,  may  be  per- 
mitted to  form  for  themselves  an  image,  probably  very 
like  the  original,  of  that  assembly,  where  patricians, 
townsmen,  artisans — the  mariners  who  would  be  the  first 
to  bear  their  part,  and  those  sons  of  the  people  who  are 
the  natural  recruits  of  every  army,  all  met  together  eager 
for  news,  ready  to  be  moved  by  the  eloquence,  and 
wrought  to  enthusiasm  by  the  sentiment  of  their  doge. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  speech  of  Michieli,  given 
by  Sabellico  in  detail,  is  the  actual  oration  of  the  doge, 
verbally  reported  in  the  first  half  of  the  twelfth  century  : 
but  it  has,  no  doubt,  some  actual  truth  of  language, 
handed  down  by  fragments  of  tradition  and  anonymous 
chronicle,  and  it  is  very  characteristic,  and  worthy  of  the 
occasion.  "From  you,  noble  Venetians,  these  things 
are  not  hid,"  he  says,  "  which  were  done  partly  by  your- 
selves, and  partly  by  the  other  peoples  of  Europe,  to 
recover  the  Holy  Land."  Then,  after  a  brief  review  of 
the  circumstances,  of  the  great  necessity  and  the  appeal 
made  to  Rome,  he  addresses  himself  thus  to  the  popular 
ear: 

"  Moved  by  so  great  a  peril,  the  Roman  pontiff  has  judged  the  Vene- 
tians alone  worthy  of  such  an  undertaking,  and  that  he  might  securely 
confide  it  to  them.  Wherefore  he  has  sent  commissions  to  your  prince, 
and  to  you,  Venetian  citizens,  praying  and  supplicating  you  that  in  such 
a  time  of  need  you  should  not  desert  the  Christian  cause.  Which 
demand  your  prince  has  determined  to  refer  to  you.  Make  up  your 
minds  then,  and  command  that  a  strong  force  should  be  prepared. 
Which  thing  not  only  religion  and  our  care  for  the  Church  and  all 
Christians  enjoin,  but  also  the  inheritance  of  our  fathers,  from  whom  we 
have  received  it  as  a  charge  ;  which  fulfilling,  we  can  also  enlarge  our 
own  dominion.  It  is  very  worthy  of  the  religion  of  which  we  make  pro- 
fession, to  defend  with  our  arms  from  the  injuries  of  cruel  men  that 
country  in  which  Christ  our  King  chose  to  be  born,  to  traverse  weeping, 
in  which  to  be  betrayed,  taken,  put  upon  the  Cross,  and  that  His  most 
holy  body  should  have  sepulture  therein  ;  in  which  place,  as  testifies 
Holy  Writ,  as  the  great  Judge  yet  once  more  He  must  come  to  judge  the 
human  race.  What  sacred  place  dedicated  to  His  service,  what  monas- 
tery, what  altar,  can  we  imagine  will  be  so  grateful  to  Him  as  this  holy 
undertaking  ?  by  which  He  will  see  the  home  of  His  childhood,  His 
grave,  and,  finally,  all  the  surroundings  of  His  humanity,  made  free 
from  unworthy  bondage.  But  since  human  nature  is  so  constituted  that 


32  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

there  is  scarcely  any  public  piety  without  a  mixture  of  ambition,  you, 
perhaps,  while  I  speak,  begin  to  ask  yourselves  silently,  what  honor, 
what  glory,  what  reward  may  follow  such  an  enterprise  ?  Great  and 
notable  will  be  the  glory  to  the  Venetian  name,  since  our  forces  will 
appear  to  all  Europe  alone  sufficient  to  be  opposed  to  the  strength  of 
Asia.  The  furthermost  parts  of  the  West  will  hear  of  the  valor  of  the 
Venetians,  Africa  will  talk  of  it,  Europe  will  wonder  at  it,  and  our  name 
will  be  great  and  honored  in  everybody's  mouth.  Yours  will  be  the 
victory  in  such  a  war,  and  yours  will  be  the  glory.  .  . 

' '  Besides,  I  doubt  not  that  you  are  all  of  one  will  in  the  desire  that 
our  domain  should  grow  and  increase.  In  what  way,  and  by  what  method, 
think  you,  is  this  to  be  done  ?  Perhaps  here  seated,  or  in  our  boats 
upon  the  lagoons  ?  Those  who  think  so  deceive  themselves.  The  old 
Romans,  of  whom  it  is  your  glory  to  be  thought  the  descendants,  and 
whom  you  desire  to  emulate,  did  not  gain  the  empire  of  the  world  by 
cowardice  or  idleness  ;  but  adding  one  undertaking  to  another,  and  war  to 
war,  put  their  yoke  upon  all  people,  and  with  incredible  fighting  increased 
their  strength.  .  .  And  yet  again,  if  neither  the  glory,  nor  the  rewards, 
nor  the  ancient  and  general  devotion  of  our  city  for  the  Christian  name 
should  move  you,  this  certainly  will  move  you,  that  we  are  bound  to 
deliver  from  the  oppression  of  the  unbeliever  that  land  in  which  we  shall 
stand  at  last  before  the  tribunal  of  the  great  Judge,  and  where  what  we 
have  done  shall  not  be  hidden,  but  made  manifest  and  clear.  Go,  then, 
and  prepare  the  armaments,  and  may  it  be  well  with  you  and  with  the 
Venetian  name." 

This  skillful  mingling  of  motives,  sacred  and  secular; 
the  melting  touch  with  which  that  land  which  was  "the 
place  of  His  childhood  " — il  luogo  della  sua  fanciullezza — 
is  presented  to  their  sight;  the  desire  for  glory,  which  is 
so  sweet  to  all;  the  great  civic  ambition  to  make  Venice 
great  and  hear  her  praise;  the  keen  sting  of  the  taunt  to 
those  who  suppose  that  fame  is  to  be  got  by  sitting  still  or 
by  idle  exercise  upon  the  surrounding  waters — returning 
again  with  the  force  of  a  final  argument  to  "  that  land  " 
where  the  final  judgment  is  to  be  held,  and  where  those 
who  have  fought  for  the  Cross  will  not  be  hidden,  great  or 
small — forms  an  admirable  example  of  the  kind  of  oration 
which  an  eloquent  doge  might  deliver  to  the  impetuous 
and  easily  moved  populace,  who  had,  after  all,  a  terrible 
dominant  power  of  veto  if  they  chanced  to  take  another 
turn  from  that  which  was  desired.  The  speaker,  however, 
who  had  this  theme  and  knew  so  well  how  to  set  it  forth, 
must  have  felt  that  he  had  the  heart  of  the  people  in  his 
hand  and  could  play  upon  that  great  instrument  as  upon 
a  lute.  When  he  had  ended,  the  church  resounded  with 
shouts,  mingled  with  weeping,  and  there  was  not  one  in 
the  city,  we  are  told,  who  would  not  rather  have  been 


THE   DOGES.  33 

written  down  in  the  lists  of  that  army  than  left  to  stay  in 
peace  and  idleness  at  home. 

Dandolo,  the  most  authentic  and  trustworthy  authority, 
describes  this  expedition  as  one  of  two  hundred  ships, 
large  and  small,  but  other  authorities  reckon  them  as  less 
numerous.  They  shone  with  pictures  and  various  colors, 
the  French  historian  of  the  Crusades  informs  us,  and  were 
a  delightful  sight  as  they  made  their  way  across  the 
brilliant  eastern  sea.  Whether  the  painted  sails  that 
still  linger  about  the  lagoons  and  give  so  much  brilliancy 
and  character  to  the  scene  were  already  adopted  by  these 
glorious  galleys  seems  unknown;  their  high  prows,  how- 
ever, were  richly  decorated  with  gilding  and  color,  and 
it  is  apparently  this  ornamentation  to  which  the  historian 
alludes.  But  though  they  were  beautiful  to  behold,  their 
progress  was  not  rapid.  The  doge  stopped  on  his  way 
to  besiege  and  take  Corfu,  where  the  squadron  passed 
the  winter,  as  was  the  custom  of  the  time.  Even  when 
they  set  sail  again  they  lingered  among  the  islands,  carry- 
ing fire  and  sword  for  no  particular  reason,  so  far  as 
appears,  into  Rhodes  and  other  places;  until  at  last  evil 
news  from  Palestine,  and  the  information  that  the 
enemy's  fleet  lay  in  front  of  Joppa,  blockading  that  port, 
quickened  their  steps.  Michieli  divided  his  squadron, 
and  beguiled  the  hostile  ships  out  to  sea  with  the  hopes 
of  an  easy  triumph;  then,  falling  upon  them  with  the 
stronger  portion  of  his  force,  won  so  terrible  and  complete 
a  victory  that  the  water  and  the  air  were  tainted  with 
blood,  and  many  of  the  Venetians,  according  to  Sanudo, 
fell  sick  in  consequence. 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  it  was  after  this  first 
incident  of  the  war,  or  at  a  later  period,  that  the  doge 
found  himself,  like  so  many  generals  before  and  after 
him,  in  want  of  money  for  the  payment  of  his  men. 
The  idea  of  banknotes  had  not  then  occurred  even  to  the 
merchant  princes.  But  Michieli  did  what  our  own 
valiant  Gordon  had  to  do,  and  with  as  great  a  strain,  no 
doubt,  on  the  faith  of  the  mediaeval  mariners  to  whom 
the  device  was  entirely  new.  He  caused  a  coinage  to  be 
struck  in  leather,  stamped  with  his  own  family  arms,  and 
had  it  published  throughout  the  fleet,  upon  his  personal 
warrant,  that  these  should  be  considered  as  lawful 
money,  and  should  be  exchanged  for  gold  zecchins  on 


34  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  return  of  the  ships  to  Venice.  "And  so  it  was  done, 
and  the  promise  was  kept."  In  memory  of  this  first 
assignat  the  Ca'  Michieli,  still  happily  existing  in  Venice, 
bears  till  this  day,  and  has  borne  through  all  the  inter- 
vening centuries,  the  symbol  of  these  leathern  coins  upon 
the  cheerful  blue  and  white  of  their  ancestral  coat. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Venetians  at  Acre  they  found  the 
assembled  Christians  full  of  uncertain  counsels,  as  was 
unfortunately  too  common;  doubtful  even  with  which 
city,  Tyre  or  Ascalon,  they  should  begin  their  operations. 
The  doge  proposed  an  appeal  to  God  under  the  shape  of 
drawing  lots,  always  a  favorite  idea  with  the  Venetians, 
and  the  two  names  were  written  on  pieces  of  paper,  and 
placed  in  the  pyx  on  the  altar,  from  which  one  was  drawn 
by  a  child,  after  Mass  had  been  said.  On  this  appeared 
the  name  of  Tyre,  and  the  question  was  decided.  Be- 
fore, however,  the  expedition  set  out  again,  the  prudent 
Venetian,  well  aware  that  gratitude  is  less  to  be  calcu- 
lated upon  after  than  before  the  benefit  is  received, 
made  his  conditions  with  "  the  Barons  "  who  represented 
the  imprisoned  King  Baldwin.  These  conditions  were 
that  in  every  city  of  the  Christian  kingdom  the  Vene- 
tians should  have  secured  to  them  a  church,  a  street,  an 
open  square,  a  bath,  and  a  bakehouse,  to  be  held  free 
from  taxes  as  if  they  were  the  property  of  the  king;  that 
they  should  be  free  from  all  tolls  on  entering  or  leaving 
these  cities — as  free  as  if  in  their  own  dominion — unless 
when  conveying  freight,  in  which  case  they  were  to  pay 
the  ordinary  dues.  Further,  the  authorities  of  Baldwin's 
kingdom  pledged  themselves  to  pay  to  the  doge  in  every 
recurring  year,  on  the  feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  three 
hundred  bezants;  and  consented  that  all  legal  differences 
between  Venetian  residents  or  visitors  should  be  settled 
by  their  own  courts,  and  that,  in  cases  of  shipwreck  or 
death  at  sea,  the  property  of  dead  Venetians  should  be 
carefully  preserved  and  conveyed  to  Venice  for  distribu- 
tion to  the  lawful  heirs.  Finally,  the  third  parts  of  the 
cities  of  Tyre  and  Ascalon,  if  conquered  by  the  help  of 
the  Venetians — in  so  far  at  least  as  these  conquered 
places  belonged  to  the  Saracens  and  not  to  the  Franks — 
were  to  be  given  to  the  Venetians,  to  be  held  by  them  as 
freely  as  the  king  held  the  rest.  These  conditions  are 
taken  from  the  confirmatory  charter  afterward  granted 


THE   DOGES.  35 

by  Baldwin.  The  reader  will  perceive  that  the  doge 
drove  an  excellent  bargain,  and  did  not,  though  so  great 
and  good  a  man,  disdain  to  exact  the  best  terms  possible 
from  his  friends'  necessities. 

These  important  preliminaries  settled,  the  expedition 
set  out  for  Tyre,  which,  being  very  strong,  was  assailed 
at  once  by  land  and  by  sea.  The  siege  had  continued 
for  some  time  without  any  important  result,  and  the 
Crusaders  were  greatly  discouraged  by  rumors  of  an 
attack  that  was  being  planned  against  Jerusalem,  when 
it  began  to  be  whispered  in  the  host  that  the  Venetians, 
who  were  so  handy  with  their  galleys,  would,  in  case  of 
the  arrival  of  the  army  of  the  King  of  Damascus,  who 
was  known  to  be  on  his  way  to  the  relief  of  the  city, 
think  only  of  their  own  safety,  and  getting  up  all  sail 
abandon  their  allies  and  make  off  to  sea.  This  sugges- 
tion made  a  great  commotion  in  the  camp,  where  the 
knowledge  that  a  portion  of  the  force  had  escape  within 
their  power  made  danger  doubly  bitter  to  the  others 
who  had  no  such  possibility.  The  doge  heard  the  rumor, 
which  filled  him  with  trouble  and  indignation.  Dandolo 
says  that  he  took  a  plank  from  each  of  the  galleys  to 
make  them  unseaworthy.  "  Others  write,"  says  Sabellico, 
"  that  the  sails,  oars,  and  other  things  needed  for  naviga- 
tion were  what  Michieli  removed  from  his  ships."  These 
articles  were  carried  into  the  presence  of  Varimondo  or 
Guarimondo,  the  patriarch,  and  all  the  assembly  of  the 
leaders.  The  astonishment  of  the  council  of  war,  half 
composed  of  priests,  when  these  cumbrous  articles, 
smelling  of  pitch  and  salt  water,  were  thrown  down 
before  them,  may  be  imagined.  The  doge  made  them 
an  indignant  speech,  asking  how  they  could  have  supposed 
the  Venetians  to  be  so  light  of  faith;  and,  with  a  touch 
of  ironical  contempt,  informed  them  that  he  took  this 
means  to  set  them  at  their  ease,  and  show  that  the  men 
of  Venice  meant  to  take  Tyre,  and  not  to  run  away. 

Another  picturesque  incident  recorded  is  one  which 
Sabellico  allows  may  be  fabulous,  but  which  Sanudo 
repeats  from  two  different  sources — the  story  of  a  carrier 
pigeon  sent  by  the  relieving  army  to  encourage  the 
people  of  Tyre  in  their  manful  resistance,  which  the 
Christian  army  caught,  and  to  which  they  attached  a 
message  of  quite  opposite  purport,  upon  the  receipt  of 


36  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

which  the  much  tried  and  famished  garrison  lost  heart, 
and  at  length,  though  with  all  the  honors  of  war,  capitu- 
lated, and  threw  open  their  gates;  upon  which  the 
besiegers  took  possession,  not  without  much  grumbling 
on  the  part  of  the  disappointed  soldiers,  who  looked  for 
nothing  less  than  the  sacking  of  the  wealthy  city.  The 
royal  standard  of  Jerusalem  was  immediately  erected  on 
the  highest  tower,  those  of  St.  Mark  and  of  the  Count  of 
Tripoli  waving  beside  it.  The  siege  lasted,  according 
to  Dandolo,  nearly  four  months.  The  doge  had  spent 
Christmas  solemnly  at  Jerusalem,  and  it  was  in  July  that 
the  city  was  entered  by  the  allies:  but  all  the  authorities 
are  chary  of  dates,  and  even  Romanin  is  not  too  clear 
on  this  point.  It  was,  however,  in  July,  1123,  that  the 
victory  was  gained. 

In  the  portion  of  the  city  which  fell  to  the  share  of 
the  Venetians,  true  to  their  instincts,  a  scheme  of 
government  was  at  once  set  up.  The  doge  put  in  a  balio 
chi  facesse  ragione — a  deputy  who  should  do  right — seek 
good  and  ensue  it.  Mr.  Ruskin,  in  his  eloquent  account 
of  this  great  enterprise  (which  it  would  be  great  temerity 
on  our  part  to  attempt  to  repeat,  were  it  not  necessary 
to  the  story  of  the  doges),  quotes  the  oath  taken  by 
inferior  magistrates  under  the  balio,  which  is  a  stringent 
promise  to  act  justly  by  all  men  and  "according  to  the 
ancient  use  and  law  of  the  city."  The  Venetians  took 
possession  at  once  of  their  third  of  the  newly  acquired 
town,  with  all  the  privileges  accorded  to  them,  and  set 
up  their  bakeries,  their  exclusive  weights  and  measures, 
their  laws,  their  churches,  of  which  three  were  built 
without  delay,  and  along  with  all  these,  secured  an 
extension  of  trade,  which  was  the  highest  benefit  of  all. 

It  is  asserted  by  an  anonymous  commentator  upon  the 
manuscript  of  Dandolo,  that  it  was  proposed  by  the  Cru- 
saders, after  this  great  success  of  their  arms,  to  elect  the 
doge  King  of  Jerusalem  in  place  of  the  imprisoned  Bald- 
win: but  of  this  there  seems  no  confirmation.  Michieli 
was  called  from  the  scene  of  his  victories  by  information 
of  renewed  troubles  on  the  Dalmatian  coast,  and  departed, 
carrying  along  with  him  many  of  the  fine  things  for 
which  Tyre  was  famous — the  purple  and  the  goldsmith's 
work,  and  many  treasures — but  among  others,  one  on 
which  Dandolo  and  Sanudo  both  agree,  a  certain  great 


THE    DOGES.  37 

stone  which  had  stood  near  one  of  the  gates  of  Tyre  since 
the  time  when  our  Lord,  weary  after  a  journey,  sat  down 
to  rest  upon  it.  Such  a  treasure  was  not  likely  to  escape 
the  keen  scent  of  the  Venetians,  so  eager  for  relics.  The 
doge  carried  it  away,  a  somewhat  cumbrous  addition  to 
his  plunder,  and  when  he  reached  home  placed  it  in  San 
Marco,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Baptistery,  a 
chapel  not  built  in  Michieli'sday,  where  it  forms  the  altar, 
un  enormc  mossetto  de  granito — as  says  the  last  guidebook. 
The  guidebook,  however  (the  excellent  one  published  by 
Signori  Falin  and  Molmenti,  from  the  notes  of  Lazari, 
and  worth  a  dozen  Hurrays),  says  that  it  was  Vitale 
Michieli,  and  not  Domenico  who  brought  over  this  stone 
from  Tyre;  just  as  Mr.  Ruskin  assures  us  that  it  was 
Domenico  who  brought  home  the  two  famous  columns  on 
the  Piazzetta,  of  which  the  chronicles  do  not  say  a  word. 
Who  is  to  decide  when  doctors  disagree  ? 

The  homeward  journey  of  the  Venetians  was  full  of 
adventure  and  conflict.  Their  first  pause  was  made  at 
Rhodes,  where  the  inhabitants,  possibly  encouraged  by 
the  Greek  emperor  in  their  insolence  to  the  Venetians, 
refused  to  furnish  them  with  provisions:  whereupon  the 
doge  disembarked  his  army,  and  took  and  sacked  the 
city.  After  this  swift  and  summary  vengeance  the  fleet 
went  on  to  Chios,  which  not  only  was  treated  as  Rhodes 
had  been,  but  was  robbed  of  a  valuable  piece  of  saintly 
plunder,  the  body  of  St.  Isidore.  The  other  isles  of  the 
Archipelago  fell  in  succession  before  the  victorious  fleet, 
which  passed  with  a  swelling  sail  and  all  the  exhilaration 
of  success  from  one  to  another.  At  Cephalonia  the  body 
of  San  Donatowas  discovered  and  carried  away.  Nearer 
home  the  expedition  executed  those  continually  required 
readjustments  of  the  Dalmatian  towns  which  almost  every 
doge  in  succession,  since  they  were  first  annexed,  had 
been  compelled  to  take  in  hand.  Trau,  Spalatro,  and 
Zara  were  retaken  from  the  Hungarians,  and  the  latter 
city,  called  by  Sanudo  Belgrade  (Belgrado  dot  Zara 
veechia),  from  which  the  Venetian  governor  had  been 
banished,  and  which  had  cost  much  blood  and  trouble  to 
the  republic,  the  doge  is  said  to  have  caused  to  be  de- 
stroyed, "that  its  ruin  might  be  an  example  to  the 
others,"  a  fact  which,  however,  does  not  prevent  it  from 
reappearing,  a  source  of  trouble  and  conflict  to  many  a 


38  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

subsequent  doge.  Here,  too,  Michieli  paused  and  dis- 
tributed the  spoil,  setting  apart  a  portion  for  God,  and 
dividing  the  rest  among  the  army.  Then,  with  great 
triumph  and  victory,  after  an  absence  of  nearly  three 
years,  the  conquerors  made  their  way  home. 

A  more  triumphant  voyage  had  never  been  made.  The 
Venetians  had,  as  the  doge  predicted,  covered  their  name 
with  glory,  and  at  the  same  time  extended  and  increased 
their  realm.  They  had  acquired  the  third  part  of  Tyre 
and  settled  a  strong  colony  there,  to  push  their  trade  and 
afford  an  outlet  for  the  superfluous  energies  of  the  race. 
They  had  impressed  the  terror  of  their  name  and  arms 
upon  the  Grecian  isles.  The  doge  himself  had  performed 
some  of  those  magnanimous  deeds  which  take  hold  upon 
the  imagination  of  a  people,  and  outlive  for  centuries  all 
violent  victories  and  acquisitions.  The  stories  of  the 
leather  coinage  and  of  the  disabled  galleys  are  such  as 
make  those  traditions  which  are  the  very  life  of  a  people. 
And  Michieli  had  served  his  country  by  seizing  upon  the 
imagination  and  sympathies  of  other  lands.  He  had  almost 
been  made  king  in  Jerusalem.  When  he  passed  by  Sicily 
he  had  again  been  offered  a  kingdom.  There  was  noth- 
ing wanting  to  the  perfection  of  his  glory.  And  when  he 
came  home  triumphant,  and  told  his  story  of  danger  and 
successes  in  the  same  glowing  area  of  St.  Mark's,  to  the 
same  fervent  multitude  whose  sanction  he  had  asked  to 
the  undertaking,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  what  his  welcome 
must  have  been.  He  had  brought  with  him  treasures  of 
cunning  workmanship,  the  jewels  of  gold  and  silver,  the 
wonderful  embroideries  and  carpets  of  the  East;  perhaps 
also  the  secret  of  the  glass-workers,  creating  a  new  trade 
among  the  existing  guilds,  things  to  make  all  Venice  be- 
side itself  with  delight  and  admiration.  And  when  the 
two  saintly  corpses  were  carried  reverentially  on  shore — 
one  for  Murano,  to  consecrate  the  newly  erected  church, 
one  to  remain  in  Venice — and  the  shapeless  mass  of  the 
great  stone  upon  which  our  Lord  had  sat  in  His  weariness, 
or  which,  as  another  story  says,  had  served  Him  as  a 
platform  from  which  to  address  the  wondering  crowd, 
with  what  looks  of  awe  and  reverential  ecstasy  must  these 
sacred  relics  have  been  regarded,  the  crown  of  all  the 
victor's  spoil!  The  enlightened,  or  even  partially  en- 
lightened, spectator  in  Venice,  as  well  as  in  other  places, 


THE   DOGES.  39 

has  ceased  to  feel  any  strong  veneration  for  dead  men's 
bones,  except  under  the  decent  coverings  of  the  tomb; 
but  we  confess,  for  our  own  part,  that  the  stone  which 
stood  at  the  gate  of  Tyre  all  those  ages,  and  which  the 
valorous  doge  haled  over  the  seas  to  make  an  altar  of, — 
the  stone  on  which,  tradition  says,  our  Lord  rested  when 
He  passed  by  those  coasts  of  Tyre  and  Sidon,  where  per- 
haps that  anxious  woman  who  would  not  take  an  answer 
first  saw  Him  seated,  and  conceived  the  hope  that  so 
great  a  prophet  might  give  healing  to  her  child, — has  an 
interest  for  us  as  strong  as  if  we  had  lived  in  the  twelfth 
century  and  seen  the  doge  come  home.  The  Baptistery 
of  St.  Mark's  is  well  worthy  examination.  There  is  a 
beautiful  description  of  it  in  the  second  volume  of  Mr. 
Ruskin's  Stones  of  Venice,  to  read  which  is  the  next  best 
thing  to  visiting  the  solemn  quiet  of  the  place;  but  there 
is  no  allusion  there  to  this  one  veracious  relic,  Doge 
Domenico's  trophy — the  mighty  bit  of  Syrian  stone. 

The  doge  lived  but  a  few  years  after  his  return.  Mr. 
Ruskin,  following  the  chroniclers,  says  that  he  was  the 
first  who  lighted  the  streets  of  Venice  by  the  uncertain 
and  not  very  effectual  method,  though  so  much  better 
than  nothing,  of  lamps  before  the  shrines  which  abounded 
at  every  corner;  so  that  the  traveler,  if  he  pleases,  may 
find  a  token  of  our  doge  at  every  Traghetto  where  a  faint 
little  light  twinkles  before  the  shrine  inclosing  the  dim 
print  or  lithograph  which  represents  the  Madonna.  Mr. 
Ruskin  would  have  us  believe  that  he  for  one  would  like 
Venice  better  if  this  were  the  only  illumination  of  the 
city;  but  we  may  be  allowed  to  imagine  that  this  is  only 
a  fond  exaggeration  on  the  part  of  that  master.  The 
Venetians  were  at  the  same  time  prohibited  from  wearing 
beards  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  Greeks — a  rule 
which  must  surely  apply  to  some  particular  form  of  beard, 
and  not  to  that  manly  ornament  itself,  on  which  it  is 
evident  the  men  of  Venice  had  set  great  store. 

In  the  year  1129,  having  reigned  only  eleven  years, 
though  he  had  accomplished  so  much,  and  achieved  so 
great  a  reputation,  the  doge,  being  old  and  weary, 
resigned  his  crown  and  retired  to  San  Giorgio  Maggiore, 
though  whether  with  the  intention  of  joining  the  brother- 
hood there,  or  only  for  repose,  we  are  not  told.  It 
would  have  been  a  touching  and  grand  retirement  for  an 


40  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

old  prince  who  had  spent  his  strength  for  Venice,  to  pass 
his  latter  days  in  the  island  convent,  where  all  day  long, 
and  by  the  lovely  moonlight  nights  that  glorify  the 
lagoons,  he  could  have  watched  across  the  gleaming 
waters  his  old  home  and  all  the  busy  scenes  in  which  he 
had  so  lately  taken  the  chief  part,  and  might  have 
received  in  many  an  anxious  moment  the  visit  of  the 
reigning  doge,  and  given  his  counsel,  and  become  the 
best  adviser  of  the  city  which  in  active  service  he  could 
aid  no  more.  But  this  ideal  position  was  not  realized  for 
Doge  Domenico.  He  had  been  but  a  few  months  in  San 
Giorgio  when  he  died,  full  of  years  and  honors,  and  was 
buried  in  the  refuge  he  had  chosen.  "The  place  of  his 
grave,"  says  Mr.  Ruskin,  "you  find  by  going  down  the 
steps  on  your  right  hand  behind  the  altar,  leading  into 
what  was  yet  a  monastery  before  the  last  Italian  revolu- 
tion, but  is  now  a  finally  deserted  loneliness.  On  his 
grave  there  is  a  heap  of  frightful  modern  upholsterer's 
work  (Longhena's),  his  first  tomb  being  removed  as  too 
modest  and  time-worn  for  the  vulgar  Venetian  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  old  inscription  was  copied  on 
the  rotten  black  slate  which  is  breaking  away  in  thin 
flakes  dimmed  by  destroying  salt."  It  is  scarcely  de- 
cipherable, but  it  is  given  at  length  by  Sanudo:  "Here 
lies  the  terror  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  glory  of  the  Vene- 
tians," says  the  epitaph;  "the  man  whom  Emmanuel 
feared,  and  all  the  world  still  honors.  The  capture  of 
Tyre,  the  destruction  of  Syria,  the  desolation  of  Hungary, 
proclaim  his  strength.  He  made  the  Venetians  to  dwell 
in  peace  and  quiet,  for  while  he  flourished  the  country 
was  safe."  We  add  the  concluding  lines  in  the  transla- 
tion given  by  Mr.  Ruskin:  "Whosoever  thou  art  who 
comest  to  behold  this  tomb  of  his,  bow  thyself  down 
before  God  because  of  him." 

It  was  probably  from  an  idea  of  humility  that  the  great 
doge  had  himself  buried,  not  in  the  high  places  of  the 
church,  but  in  the  humble  corridor  which  led  to  the  mon- 
astery. All  that  Mr.  Rusldn  says  with  his  accustomed 
force  about  the  hideousness  of  the  tomb  is  sufficiently 
just;  yet,  though  nothing  may  excuse  the  vulgar  Venetian 
of  the  seventeenth  century  for  his  bad  taste  in  architec- 
ture, it  is  still  morally  in  his  favor  that  he  desired  in  his 
offensive  way  to  do  honor  to  the  great  dead — a  good  in- 


THE   DOGES.  41 

tention  which  perhaps  our  great  autocrat  in  art  does  not 
sufficiently  appreciate. 

After  Domenico  Michieli  there  intervened  two  doges, 
one  his  son-in-law  Polani,  another  a  Morosini,  before  it 
came  to  the  turn  of  his  son,  Vitale  II.,  to  ascend  the 
throne.  What  may  be  called  the  ordinary  of  Venetian 
history,  the  continual  conflict  on  the  Dalmatian  coasts, 
went  on  during  both  these  reigns  with  unfailing  perti- 
nacity; and  there  had  arisen  a  new  enemy,  the  Norman, 
who  had  got  possession  of  Naples,  and  whose  hand  was 
by  turns  against  every  man.  These  fightings  came  to 
little,  and  probably  did  less  harm  than  appears;  other- 
wise, if  war  meant  all  that  it  means  now,  life  on  the  Dal- 
matian coast,  and  among  the  Greek  Isles,  must  have  been 
little  worth  the  living.  In  the  time  of  Vitale  Michieli's 
predecessor,  Sabellico  says,  the  Campanile  of  San  Marco 
was  built,  "a  work  truly  beautiful  and  admirable.  The 
summit  of  this  is  of  pure  and  resplendent  gold,  and  rises 
to  such  a  height  that  not  only  can  you  see  all  the  city, 
but  toward  the  west  and  the  south  can  behold  great 
stretches  of  the  sea,  in  such  a  manner  that  those  who  sail 
from  hence  to  Istria  and  Dalmatia,  two  hundred  stadii 
away  and  more,  are  guided  by  this  splendor  as  by  a  faith- 
ful star."  This  was  the  first  of  the  several  erections 
which  have  ended  in  the  grand  and  simple  lines  of  the 
Campanile  we  know  so  well,  rising  straight  out  of  the 
earth  with  a  self-reliant  force  which  makes  its  very  bare- 
ness impressive.  Rising  out  of  the  earth,  however,  is  the 
last  phrase  to  use  in  speaking  of  this  wonderful  tower, 
which,  as  Sabellico  reports,  wondering,  is  so  deeply 
founded  in  mysterious  intricacies  of  piles  and  props 
below  that  almost  as  much  is  hidden  as  that  which  is 
visible. 

Vitale  Michieli  II.  has  this  distinction,  that  he  was  the 
last  of  the  doges  elected  by  that  curious  version  of 
universal  suffrage  which  is  to  be  found  in  this  primitive 
age  in  most  republics — that  is  to  say,  the  system  by  which 
the  few  who  pull  the  strings  in  every  human  community 
make  it  apparent  to  the  masses  that  the  potent  sugges- 
tion whispered  in  their  ear  is  their  own  inspiration.  Such 
had  been,  up  to  this  period,  the  manner  of  electing  the 
doge.  The  few  who  were  instinctively  and  by  nature  at 
the  head  of  affairs — men  themselves  elected  by  nobody, 


42  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  first  by  natural  right,  or  because  their  fathers  had 
been  so,  or  because  they  were  richer,  bolder,  more  enter- 
prising, more  audacious,  than  the  rest — settled  among 
themselves  which  of  them  was  to  be  the  ruler;  then  call- 
ing together  the  people  in  San  Marco,  gave  them,  but 
with  more  skill  and  less  frankness  than  the  thing  is  done 
in  ecclesiastical  matters  among  ourselves,  their  conge 
d'ttire.  The  doge  elected  by  this  method  reigned  with 
the  help  of  these  unofficial  counselors, — of  whom  two 
only  seem  to  have  borne  that  name, — and  he  was  as  easily 
ruined  when  reverses  came  as  he  had  been  promoted. 
But  the  time  of  more  formal  institutions  was  near,  and 
the  primitive  order  had  ceased  to  be  enough  for  the  rising 
intelligence,  or  at  least  demands,  of  the  people.  The 
third  Michieli  had,  however,  the  enormous  advantage  of 
being  the  son  of  the  most  distinguished  of  recent  doges, 
and  no  doubt  was  received  with  those  shouts  of  "  Pro- 
vato!  Provato!  "  (that  is,  Approvato]  which  was  the  form 
of  the  popular  fiat.  One  of  the  first  incidents  of  his 
reign  was  a  brief  but  sharp  struggle  for  the  independence 
of  the  metropolitan  church  of  Grado,  once  more  attacked 
by  the  Patriarch  of  Aquileia.  The  Venetians  overcame 
the  assailants,  and  brought  the  belligerent  prelate  and 
twelve  of  his  canons  as  prisoners  to  Venice,  whence,  after 
a  while,  they  were  sent  home,  having  promised  to  meddle 
with  Grado  no  more,  and  to  pay  a  somewhat  humiliating 
tribute  yearly — in  the  exaction  of  which  there  is  a  grim 
humor.  Every  year  before  Lent,  in  the  heat  of  what  we 
should  call  the  Carnival,  a  great  bull  and  twelve  pigs 
were  to  be  sent  to  Venice,  representing  the  patriarch 
and  his  twelve  canons.  On  the  Thursday,  when  the 
mirth  was  at  its  height,  the  bull  was  hunted  in  the  Piazza, 
and  the  pigs  decapitated  in  memory  of  the  priestly  cap- 
tives. This  curious  ironical  celebration  lasted  till  the 
days  of  Sabellico  and  Sanudo,  the  latter  of  whom  entitles 
\tihtgiobbadi  Carnevale.  It  shows,  notwithstanding  all 
the  reverential  sentiments  of  these  ages  of  faith,  how  a 
certain  contempt  for  the  priest  as  an  adversary  tempered 
the  respect  of  the  most  pious  for  all  the  aids  and  appur- 
tenances of  religion.* 

*  Romanin  considers  the  bull  to  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  this 
commemoration,  the  twelve  pigs  accompanied  by  twelve  cakes  being,  he 
says,  the  tribute  exacted. 


THE    DOGES.  43 

This,  however,  was  the  only  victory  in  the  life  of  a 
doge  so  much  less  fortunate  than  his  father.  Italy  was 
in  great  commotion  throughout  his  reign,  all  the  great 
northern  cities,  with  Venice  at  their  head,  being  bound 
in  what  was  called  the  Lombard  League  against  the 
Emperor  Frederick  Barbarossa.  But  the  Venetians  were 
more  exposed  to  attacks  from  the  other  side,  from  the 
smoldering  enmity  of  the  Greeks,  than  from  anything 
Barbarossa  could  do;  and  it  was  from  this  direction  that 
ruin  came  upon  the  third  Michieli.  Not  only  were  con- 
spiracies continually  fostered  in  the  cities  of  the  Adriatic; 
but  the  Greek  Emperor  Emmanuel  seized  the  opportunity, 
while  Venice  seemed  otherwise  occupied,  to  issue  a  sudden 
edict  by  which  all  the  Venetian  traders  in  his  realm  were 
seized  upon  a  certain  day,  their  goods  confiscated,  them- 
selves thrown  into  prison.  His  reckoning,  however,  was 
premature;  for  the  excitement  in  Venice  when  this  news 
reached  the  astonished  and  enraged  republic  was  furious; 
and  with  cries  of  "War!  war!"  the  indignant  populace 
rushed  together,  offering  themselves  and  everything  they 
could  contribute,  to  the  avenging  of  this  injury. 

The  great  preparations  which  were  at  once  set  on  foot 
demanded,  however,  a  larger  outlay  than  could  be  provided 
for  by  voluntary  offerings,  and  the  necessity  of  the  moment 
originated  a  new  movement  of  the  greatest  importance  to 
the  world.  The  best  expedient  which  occurred  to  the 
Venetian  statesmen  was  to  raise  a  national  loan,  bearing 
interest,  to  collect  which  officers  were  appointed  in  every 
district  of  Venice  with  all  the  machinery  of  an  income  tax, 
assessing  every  family  according  to  its  means.  These 
contributions,  the  first,  or  almost  the  first,  directly  levied 
in  Venice,  and  all  the  inquisitorial  demands  necessary  to 
regulate  them,  passed  without  offense  in  the  excitement 
of  the  great  national  indignation,  but  told  afterward  upon 
the  fate  of  the  doge.  Vitale  Michieli  set  out  in  Septem- 
ber, 1171,  six  months  after  the  outrage,  at  the  head  of  a 
great  fleet,  to  avenge  it;  but  misfortune  pursued  this 
unlucky  prince.  He  was  beguiled  by  his  wily  adversary 
into  waiting  for  explanations  and  receiving  embassies, 
only  intended  to  gain  time;  or  worse,  to  expose  to  the 
dangers  of  inaction  and  the  chances  of  pestilence  the 
great  and  powerful  expedition  which  the  Greeks  were  not 
able  to  encounter  in  a  more  legitimate  way.  These 


44  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

miserable  tactics  succeeded  fully;  lingering  about  the 
islands,  at  Chios,  or  elsewhere,  disease  completed  what 
discontent  and  idleness  had  begun.  The  Greek  emperor, 
all  the  chroniclers  unite  in  saying,  poisoned  the  wells  so 
that  everybody  who  drank  of  them  fell  ill.  The  idea  that 
poison  is  the  cause  of  every  such  outbreak  of  pestilence  is 
still,  as  the  reader  knows,  a  rooted  belief  of  the  primitive 
mind — one  of  those  original  intuitions  gone  astray,  and 
confused  by  want  of  understanding,  which  perhaps  the 
progress  of  knowledge  may  set  right;  for  it  is  very  likely 
the  waters  were  poisoned,  though  not  by  the  emperor. 
The  great  epidemic  which  followed  was  of  the  most  dis- 
astrous and  fatal  character;  not  only  decimating  the  fleet, 
but  when  it  returned  to  Venice  broken  and  discouraged, 
spreading  throughout  the  city. 

This  great  national  misfortune  gave  rise  to  a  curious 
and  romantic  incident.  The  family  Giustinian,  one  of 
the  greatest  in  Venice,  was,  according  to  the  story,  so 
strongly  represented  in  the  armada  that  the  race  became 
virtually  extinct  by  the  deaths,  one  after  another,  of  its 
members,  in  the  disastrous  voyage  homeward.  The  only 
man  left  was  a  young  monk,  or  rather  novice  not  yet  pro- 
fessed, in  the  convent  of  San  Niccolo,  on  the  Lido. 
When  the  plague-stricken  crews  got  home,  and  this  mis- 
fortune among  so  many  others  was  made  apparent,  the 
doge  sent  messengers  to  the  Pope,  asking  that  young 
Niccolo  might  be  liberated  from  his  vows.  The  old 
Giustiniani  fathers,  in  the  noble  houses  which  were  not 
as  yet  the  palaces  we  know,  must  have  waited  among 
their  weeping  women — with  an  anxiety  no  doubt  tempered 
by  the  determination,  if  the  Pope  should  refuse,  to  take 
the  matter  into  their  own  hands — for  the  decision  of 
Rome.  And  it  is  wonderful  that  no  dramatist  or  modern 
Italian  romancer,  touched  by  the  prevalent  passion  for 
moral  dissection,  should  have  thought  of  taking  for  his 
hero  this  young  monk  upon  the  silent  shores  of  the  Lido, 
amid  all  the  wonderful  dramas  of  light  and  shade  that  go 
on  upon  the  low  horizon  sweeping  round  on  every  side,  a 
true  globe  of  level,  long  reflections,  of  breadth  and  space 
and  solitude,  so  apt  for  thought.  Had  he  known,  per- 
haps, before  he  thought  of  dedication  to  the  Church, 
young  Anna  Michieli,  between  whose  eyes  and  his,  from 
her  windows  in  the  doge's  palace  to  the  green  line  of  the 


THE   DOGES.  45 

Lido,  there  was  nothing  but  the  dazzle  of  the  sunshine 
and  the  ripple  of  the  sea?  Was  there  a  simple  romance 
of  this  natural  kind,  waiting  to  be  turned  into  joyful  ful- 
fillment by  the  Pope's  favorable  answer?  Or  had  the 
novice  to  give  up  his  dreams  of  holy  seclusion,  or  those 
highest,  all-engrossing  visions  of  ambition,  which  were 
to  no  man  more  open  than  to  a  bold  and  able  priest? 
These  are  questions  which  might  well  furnish  forth  pages 
of  delicate  description  and  discussion.  Naturally  the  old 
chronicler  has  no  thought  of  any  such  refinement.  The 
Pope  consented,  and  the  doge  gave  his  daughter  to  young 
Niccolo,  "  which  thing  procured  the  continuance  in  the 
city  of  the  Casa  Giustinian,  in  which  afterward  flourished 
men  of  the  highest  intellect  and  great  orators,"  is  all  the 
record  says.  The  resuscitated  race  gave  many  notable 
servants  to  the  state,  although  no  doge  until  well  on  in 
the  seventeenth  century.  When  the  pair  thus  united  had 
done  their  duty  to  the  state,  Niccolo  Giustinian  rededi- 
cated  himself  in  his  old  convent  and  resumed  his  religious 
profession ;  while  Anna,  his  wife,  proceeded  to  her  chosen 
nunnery,  and  there  lived  a  life  so  holy  as  to  add  to  the 
fame  of  her  family  by  attaining  that  partial  canonization 
which  is  represented  by  the  title  of  Beata.  This,  one 
cannot  but  feel,  was  an  admirable  way  of  making  the  best 
of  both  worlds. 

"  In  this  year,"  says  Sanudo,  "  there  were  brought  to 
Venice  from  Constantinople,  in  three  great  ships,  three 
mighty  columns,"  one  of  which  in  the  course  of  disem- 
barkation fell  into  the  sea,  and  remains  there,  it  is  to  be 
supposed,  till  this  day;  the  others  are  the  two  well-known 
pillars  of  the  Piazzetta.  We  need  not  repeat  the  story, 
so  often  told,  of  how  it  was  that,  no  one  being  able  to 
raise  them  to  their  place,  a  certain  Lombard,  Niccolo  of 
the  Barterers,  succeeded  in  doing  so  with  wetted  ropes, 
and  asked  in  return  for  permission  to  establish  a  gambling- 
table  in  the  space  between  them.  Sabellico  says  that 
the  privilege  granted  went  so  far  "that  every  kind  of 
deception  "  was  permitted  to  be  practiced  there;  but  it 
can  scarcely  be  supposed  that  even  a  sharp  Lombard 
money-changer  would  ask  so  much.  This  permission, 
given  because  they  could  not  help  it, — having  foolishly 
pledged  their  word,  like  Herod, — was,  by  the  doge  and  his 
counselors,  made  as  odious  as  possible  by  the  further 


46  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

law  that  all  public  executions  should  take  place  between 
the  columns.  It  was  a  fatal  place  to  land  at,  and  brought 
disaster,  as  was  afterward  seen;  but  its  evil  augury  seems 
to  have  disappeared  along  with  the  gaming-tables,  as  half 
the  gondolas  in  Venice  lie  at  its  margin  now.  The  col- 
umns would  seem  to  have  been  erected  in  the  year  1172, 
but  whether  by  Doge  Vitale  or  his  successor  is  uncertain. 

Other  improvements  were  done  under  this  doge  besides 
the  elevation  of  the  columns  in  the  Piazzetta.  He  filled 
up  the  canal  which  crossed  the  broad  space  of  the  Piazza, 
still  a  green  and  open  ground,  partly  orchards  and 
enlivened  by  this  line  of  water — and  thus  prepared  the 
way  for  the  work  of  his  successor,  who  first  began  to 
pave  it,  and  surrounded  it  with  buildings  and  lines  of 
porticoes,  suggesting,  no  doubt,  its  present  form.  There 
must,  however,  have  been  a  charm  in  the  greenness  and 
trees  and  sparkling  waters — grass  growing  and  foliage 
waving  at  the  foot  of  the  great  golden-crowned  Campanile, 
and  adding  a  brightness  of  nature  to  the  Byzantine 
splendor  of  the  church  and  palace.  The  Camera  degli 
Imprestidi,  or  great  Public  Loan  Office,  however, — the 
first  National  Bank  of  Europe, — is  more  important  to 
history  than  even  the  ceaseless  improvements  of  the  city, 
The  first  loan  is  said  to  have  carried  interest  at  the  rate 
of  four  per  cent. — a  high  rate  for  a  public  debt — and  the 
organization  necessary  to  arrange  and  regulate  it  seems 
to  have  come  into  being  with  wonderful  speed  and  com- 
pleteness. The  time  was  beginning  when  the  constitu- 
tion, or  rather  want  of  constitution,  of  the  ancient 
republic,  full  of  the  accidents  and  hasty  expedients  of  an 
infant  state,  would  no  longer  suffice  for  the  gradually 
rising  and  developing  city. 

None  of  these  things,  however,  stood  the  doge  in  stead 
when  he  came  back  beaten  and  humiliated,  with  the 
plague  in  his  ships,  to  face  his  judges  in  solemn  conclave 
in  San  Marco — a  tumultuous  assembly  of  alarmed  and 
half-maddened  men,  trembling  for  their  lives  and  for  the 
lives  of  those  dear  to  them,  and  stung  by  that  sense  of  fail- 
ure which  was  intolerable  to  the  haughty  republic.  This 
was  in  the  month  of  May,  1172.  From  the  first  the  meet- 
ing must  have  borne  an  air  dangerous  to  the  doge,  against 
whom  there  began  to  rise  a  cry  that  he  was  the  occasion  of 
all  their  evils — of  the  war,  of  enforced  military  service  and 


THE   DOGES.  47 

compulsory  contributions,  and,  last  and  greatest,  of  the 
pestilence  which  he  had  brought  back  with  him.  The 
men  who  had  virtually  elected  him,  who  were  his  friends, 
and  had  shared  the  councils  of  his  reign,  would,  no  doubt, 
stand  by  him  so  far  as  their  fears  permitted;  but  the 
harmless  assembly  called  together  to  give  its  sanction  to 
the  election  of  a  new  and  popular  doge  is  very  different 
from  the  same  crowd  in  the  traditionary  power  of  its 
general  parliament,  assembling  angry  and  alarmed,  its 
pride  wounded  and  its  fears  excited,  to  pronounce  whose 
fault  these  misfortunes  were,  and  what  should  be  done  to 
the  offender.  The  loud  outcry  of  traditore,  so  ready  to 
the  lips  of  the  populace  in  such  circumstances,  resounded 
through  San  Marco,  and  there  were  ominous  murmurs 
that  the  doge's  head  was  in  danger.  He  tried  to  clear 
himself  by  a  touching  oration,  con  piangente  parole,  says 
one;  then  hastily  going  out  of  the  church,  and  from  the 
presence  of  the  excited  assembly,  took  his  way  toward 
San  Zaccaria,  along  the  Riva,  by  what  would  seem  to 
have  been  a  little-frequented  way.  As  he  passed  through 
one  of  the  little  calli,  or  lanes,  called  now,  tradition  says, 
Calle  delle  Rasse,  someone  who  had,  or  thought  he  had, 
a  special  grievance,  sprang  out  upon  him  and  stabbed 
him.  He  was  able  to  drag  himself  to  San  Zaccaria  and 
make  his  confession,  but  no  more:  and  there  died  and 
was  buried.  The  people,  horror-stricken  perhaps  by  the 
sudden  execution  of  a  doom  which  had  only  been  threat- 
ened, gave  him  a  great  funeral,  and  his  sudden  end  so 
emphasized  the  necessity  of  a  relation  more  guarded  and 
less  personal  between  the  chief  ruler  and  the  city  that 
the  leading  minds  in  Venice  proceeded  at  once  to  take 
order  for  elections  more  formal  and  a  constitution  more 
exact.  There  had  been,  according  to  primitive  rule, 
two  counselors  of  permanent  character,  and  an  indefinite 
number  of  pregadi,  or  men  "  prayed  "  to  help  the  doge — 
a  sort  of  informal  council;  but  these  were  called  together 
at  the  doge's  pleasure,  and  were  responsible  only  to  him. 
The  steps  which  were  now  taken  introduced  the  principle 
of  elective  assemblies,  and  added  many  new  precautions 
for  the  choice  and  for  the  safety  of  the  doge.  The  fact 
which  we  have  already  remarked,  that  all  the  names* 

*  Romanin  informs  us  that  a  few  names  of  the  people  appear  in  early 
documents,  as  Stefano  Tinctor  (dyer),  Vitale  Staniario  (tin-worker),  etc., 


48  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

given  belong  to  families  already  conspicuous  in  Venice, 
continued  with  equal  force  under  the  new  rule.  No 
doubt  the  elections  would  be  made  on  the  primitive 
principle;  one  man  suggesting  another,  all  of  the  same 
•class  as  those  who,  without  the  forms  of  election,  had 
hitherto  suggested  the  successive  princes,  for  the  sanction 
of  the  people.  But  the  mass  of  the  Venetians  probably 
thought  with  enthusiasm  that  they  had  taken  a  great 
step  toward  the  consolidation  of  their  liberties  when  they 
elected  these  Dandolos,  Falieris,  Morosinis,  and  the  rest, 
to  be  their  representatives,  and  do  authoritatively  what 
they  had  done  all  along  in  more  subtle  ways. 

Thus  ended  the  Doges  Michieli:  but  not  the  family, 
which  is  one  of  the  few  which  have  outlived  all  vicissi- 
tudes and  still  have  a  habitation  and  a  name  in  Venice. 
And  the  new  regime  of  elective  government  began. 

but  these  are  so  few  as  to  prove  rather  than  confute  the  almost  invariable 
aristocratic  rule. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENRICO    DANDOLO. 

THE  first  beginnings  of  a  more  formal  mode  of  govern- 
ment thus  followed  close  upon  the  murder  of  Vitale 
Michieli.  The  troubles  of  the  state  under  his  rule,  as 
well  as  the  prompt  vengeance  taken  upon  him  by  the 
infuriated  multitude,  combined  to  make  it  apparent  that 
it  was  not  for  the  safety  or  dignity  of  Venice  either  to 
remain  so  entirely  in  the  hands  of  her  chief  magistrate, 
or  to  bring  the  whole  business  of  the  state  to  a  standstill, 
and  impair  her  reputation  among  foreign  countries,  by 
his  murder.  The  republic  had  thus  arrived  at  a  com- 
prehension of  the  idea  which  governments  of  much  later 
date  have  also  had  impressed  upon  them  painfully,  that 
the  person  of  the  head  of  the  state  ought  to  be  sacrosanto, 
sacred  from  violence.  And,  no  doubt,  the  rising  compli- 
cations of  public  life,  the  growth  of  the  rich  and  power- 
ful community  in  which  personal  character  was  so  strong, 
and  so  many  interests  existed,  now  demanded  established 
institutions  and  a  rule  less  primitive  than  that  of  a  prince 
with  both  the  legislative  and  executive  power  in  his 
hands,  even  when  kept  in  check  by  a  counselor  or  two, 
and  the  vague  mass  of  the  people,  by  whom  his  proceed- 
ings had  to  be  approved  or  non-approved  after  an  oration 
skillfully  prepared  to  move  the  popular  mind.  The 
Consiglio  Maggiore,  the  great  Venetian  Parliament, 
afterward  so  curiously  limited,  came  into  being  at  this 
crisis  in  the  national  history.  The  mode  of  its  first 
selection  reads  like  the  description  of  a  Chinese  puzzle; 
and  perhaps  the  subtle,  yet  artless  complication  of  elec- 
tions, ending  at  last  in  the  doge,  may  be  taken  as  a  sort 
of  appeal  to  the  fates,  by  a  community  not  very  confident 
in  its  own  powers,  and  bent  upon  outwitting  destiny 
itself.  Two  men  were  first  chosen  by  each  sestiere  or 
district  (a  division  which  had  been  made  only  a  short 
time  before  for  the  convenience  of  raising  funds  for  Doge 
Vitale's  fatal  expedition),  each  of  whom  nominated  forty 


50  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

of  the  best  citizens,  thus  forming  the  Great  Council,  who, 
in  their  turn,  elected  eleven  representatives  who  elected 
the  doge.  The  latter  arrangement  was  changed  on 
several  occasions  before  that  which  commended  itself  as 
the  best — and  which  was  more  artificial  and  childishly 
elaborate  still — was  chosen  at  last. 

The  people  were  little  satisfied  at  first  with  this  con- 
stitutional change,  and  there  were  tumults  and  threatened 
insurrections  in  anticipation  of  the  new  body  of  electors, 
and  of  the  choice  of  a  prince  otherwise  than  by  acclama- 
tion of  the  whole  community  assembled  in  San  Marco. 
"  It  was  in  consequence  ordained,"  says  Romanin,  "that 
the  new  doge  should  be  presented  to  the  multitude  with 
these  words:  'This  is  your  doge,  if  it  pleases  you,'  and 
by  this  means  the  tumult  was  stilled."  So  easy  is  it  to 
deceive  the  multitude!  What  difference  the  new  rules 
made  in  reality  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  council 
was  made  up  of  the  same  men  who  had  always  ruled 
Venice.  A  larger  number,  no  doubt,  had  actual  power, 
but  there  was  no  change  of  hands.  The  same  fact  we 
have  already  noted  as  evident  through  all  the  history  of 
the  republic.  New  names  rarely  rise  out  of  the  crowd. 
The  families  from  among  whom  all  functionaries  were 
chosen  at  the  beginning  of  all  things  still  held  power  at 
the  end. 

The  power  of  the  doge  was  greatly  limited  by  these 
new  laws,  but  at  least  his  person  was  safe.  He  might  be 
relieved  from  his  office,  as  happened  sometimes,  but,  save 
in  one  memorable  instance,  he  was  no  longer  liable  to 
violence.  And  he  was  surrounded  by  greater  state  and 
received  all  the  semi-oriental  honors  which  could  adorn  a 
pageant.  Sebastiano  Ziani,  the  first  doge  chosen  under 
the  new  order,  was  carried  in  triumph  round  the  Piazza, 
throwing  money  to  the  crowd  from  his  unsteady  seat. 
Whether  this  was  his  own  idea  (for  he  was  very  rich  and 
liberal),  or  whether  it  was  suggested  to  him  as  a  way 
of  increasing  his  popularity,  we  are  not  told;  but  the 
jealous  aristocrats  about  him,  who  had  just  got  hold  of 
the  power  of  law-making,  and  evidently  thought  there 
could  not  be  too  detailed  a  code,  seized  upon  the  idea, 
perceiving  at  once  its  picturesque  and  attractive  pos- 
sibilities and  its  dangers,  and  decided  that  this  largesse 
should  always  be  given  by  a  new  doge,  but  settled  the 


THE    DOGES.  51 

sum,  not  less  than  a  hundred  nor  more  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  ducats,  with  jealous  determination  that  no 
wealthy  potentate  should  steal  the  hearts  of  the  populace 
with  gifts.  There  came  to  be  in  later  times  a  special 
coinage  for  the  purpose,  called  Oselle,  of  which  speci- 
mens are  still  to  be  found,  and  which  antiquarians,  or 
rather  those  lovers  of  the  curious  who  have  swamped 
the  true  antiquarian,  "  pick  up  "  wherever  they  appear. 

Sebastiano  Ziani,  according  to  some  of  our  chroniclers, 
was  not  the  man  upon  whom  the  eleven  electors  first 
fixed  their  choice,  who  was,  it  is  said,  Aurio,  or  Orio 
Mastropiero,  the  companion  of  Ziani  in  a  recent  embas- 
sage,  and  his  friend;  who  pointed  out  that  Ziani  was 
much  older  and  richer  than  himself,  and  that  it  would  be 
to  the  greater  advantage  of  Venice  that  he  should  be 
chosen — a  magnanimous  piece  of  advice.  This  story  un- 
fortunately is  not  authenticated;  neither  is  the  much 
more  important  one  of  the  romantic  circumstances  touch- 
ing the  encounter  of  Pope  Alexander  III.  and  the  Em- 
peror Barbarossa  at  Venice,  which  the  too  conscientious 
historian,  Romanin  (not  to  speak  of  his  authorities),  will 
not  hear  of,  notwithstanding  the  assertions  of  Sanudo, 
Sabellico,  and  the  rest,  and  the  popular  faith  and  the 
pictures  in  the  ducal  palace,  all  of  which  maintain  it 
strongly.  The  popular  tale  is  as  follows.  It  is  painted 
in  the  hall  of  the  Maggiore  Consiglio,  where  all  the 
world  may  see. 

The  Pope,  driven  from  Rome  by  the  enmity  of  the 
emperor,  after  many  wanderings  about  the  world,  took 
refuge  in  Venice,  where  he  concealed  himself  in  the 
humble  habit  of  a  friar;  acting,  some  say,  as  cook  to  the 
brethren  in  the  convent  of  La  Carita.  The  doge,  hearing 
how  great  a  personage  was  in  the  city,  hurried  to  visit 
him,  and  to  give  him  a  lodging  worthy  of  his  dignity; 
then  sent  ambassadors  to  intercede  with  Barbarossa  on 
his  behalf.  He  of  the  red  beard  received  benignly  the 
orators  of  the  great  republic;  but  when  he  heard  their 
errand,  changed  countenance,  and  bade  them  tell  the  doge 
that  unless  he  delivered  up  the  fugitive  Pope  it  would  be 
the  worse  for  him — that  the  eagle  should  fly  into  the 
church  of  San  Marco,  and  that  its  foundation  should  be 
made  as  a  plowed  field.  Such  words  as  these  were  not 
apt  to  Venetian  ears.  The  whole  city  rose  as  one  man, 


52  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

and  an  armata  was  immediately  prepared  to  resist  any 
that  might  be  sent  against  Venice.  The  doge  himself, 
though  an  old  man  over  seventy,  led  the  fleet.  Mass  was 
said  solemnly  in  San  Marco  by  the  Pontiff  himself,  who 
girded  his  loyal  defender  with  a  golden  sword,  and  blessed 
him  as  he  went  forth  to  battle.  There  were  seventy-five 
galleys  on  the  opposite  side,  commanded  by  young  Prince 
Otto,  the  son  of  Barbarossa,  and  but  thirty  on  that  of 
Venice.  It  was  once  more  the  Day  of  the  Ascension — 
that  fortunate  day  for  the  republic — when  the  two  fleets 
met  in  the  Adriatic.  The  encounter  ended  in  complete 
defeat  to  the  imperial  ships,  of  which  forty  were  taken, 
along  with  the  commander,  Otto,  and  many  of  his  most 
distinguished  followers.  The  Venetians  went  home  with 
natural  exultation,  sending  before  them  the  glorious 
news,  which  was  so  unexpected,  and  so  speedy,  that  the 
whole  city  rushed  to  the  Riva  with  half-incredulous  won- 
der and  joy  to  see  the  victors  disembark  with  their  pris- 
oners, among  them  the  son  of  the  great  German  prince, 
who  had  set  out  with  the  intention  of  planting  his  eagles 
in  San  Marco.  The  Pope  himself  came  down  to  the 
Riva  to  meet  the  victorious  doge,  and  drawinga  ring  from 
his  finger  gave  it  to  his  deliverer,  hailing  him  as  the  lord 
and  master  of  the  sea.  It  was  on  Ascension  Day  that 
Pietro  Orseolo  had  set  out  from  Venice  on  the  triumphant 
expedition  which  ended  in  the  extermination  of  the 
pirates,  and  the  extension  of  the  Venetian  sway  over  all 
the  coast  of  the  Adriatic — and  then  it  was,  according  to 
our  chroniclers,  that  the  feast  of  the  Sposalizio,  the  wed- 
ding of  the  sea,  had  been  first  established.  But  by  this 
time  they  have  forgotten  that  early  hint,  and  here  we 
have  once  more,  and  with  more  detailed  authorities,  the 
institution  of  this  great  and  picturesque  ceremony. 

Prince  Otto  was  nobly  treated  by  his  captors,  and  after 
a  while  undertook  to  be  their  ambassador  to  his  father, 
and  was  sent  on  parole  to  Rome  to  the  emperor.  The 
result  was  that  Frederick  yielded  to  his  son's  representa- 
tions and  the  Venetian  prowess,  and  consented  to  go  to 
Venice,  and  there  be  reconciled  to  the  Pope.  The  meet- 
ing took  place  before  the  gates  of  San  Marco,  where  His 
Holiness,  in  all  his  splendor,  seated  in  a  great  chair 
(grande  e  honoratissima  sedia),  awaited  the  coming  of  his 
rival.  Popular  tradition  never  imagined  a  more  striking 


THE    DOGES.  53 

scene:  the  Piazza,  outside  thronged,  every  window, 
balcony,  and  housetop,  with  eager  spectators,  used  to 
form  part  of  every  public  event  and  spectacle,  and  know- 
ing exactly  every  coign  of  vantage,  and  how  to  see  a 
pageant  best.  The  great  Frederick,  the  story  goes,  ap- 
proached the  seat  where  the  vicar  of  Christ  awaited  him, 
and  subduing  his  pride  to  necessity,  knelt  and  kissed  the 
Pope's  foot.  Alexander,  on  his  part,  as  proud  and  elated 
with  his  victory,  raised  his  foot  and  planted  it  on  Barba- 
rossa's  neck,  intoning  as  he  did  so,  as  Sabellico  says,  that 
Psalm  of  David,  ' '  Super  aspidem  et  basiliscum  ambulabis." 
The  emperor,  with  a  suppressed  roar  of  defiance  in  his 
red  beard,  exclaimed:  "  Not  thee,  but  Peter!  "  To  which 
the  Pope,  like  one  enraged,  planting  his  foot  more  firmly, 
replied:  "Both  I  and  Peter."  One  can  imagine  this 
brief  colloquy  carried  on,  under  their  breath,  fierce  and 
terse,  when  the  two  enemies,  greatest  in  all  the  western 
hemisphere,  met  in  forced  amity;  and  how  the  good 
doge,  amiable  peacemaker  and  master  of  the  ceremonies, 
and  all  the  alarmed  nobles,  and  the  crowds  of  spectators, 
ripe  for  any  wonder,  must  have  looked  on,  marveling 
what  words  of  blessing  they  were  saying  to  each  other, 
while  all  the  lesser  greatnesses  had  to  wait. 

But  the  later  historians  refuse  their  affirmation  to  this 
exceedingly  circumstantial,  most  picturesque,  and,  it  must 
be  added,  most  natural  story.  Romanin  assures  us,  on 
the  faith  of  all  the  documents,  that  the  meeting  was  a 
stately  ceremonial,  arranged  by  Pope  and  emperor,  with- 
out either  passion  or  humiliation  in  it;  that  the  Pope  was 
not  a  fugitive  in  Venice,  and  that  the  emperor  never 
threatened  to  fly  his  eagles  into  San  Marco;  that  Prince 
Otto  never  was  made  prisoner,  and  that  the  Pontiff 
received  with  nothing  less  satisfactory  than  a  kiss  of 
peace  the  formal  homage  of  the  emperor.  The  facts  are 
hard  to  deny,  and  no  doubt  Romanin  is  right.  But  there 
is  a  depth  of  human  nature  in  the  fable  which  the  facts 
do  not  reveal.  It  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything 
more  likely  to  be  true  than  that  brief  interchange  of 
words,  the  churchman's  triumph  and  the  statesman's 
unwilling  submission. 

The  story  goes  on  to  tell  how  Doge  Ziani  escorted 
his  two  splendid  guests  to  Ancona,  where  the  Pope  and 
the  emperor  were  presented  with  umbrellas — a  tribute 


54  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

apparently  made  to  their  exalted  rank;  whereupon  the 
Pope  requested  that  a  third  might  be  brought:  " Manca 
la  terza  pel  Doge  de  Venezia  chi  ben  lo  merita"  from  which 
incident  arose  the  use  of  this  royal,  if  unimposing,  article 
by  the  doges  ever  after.  The  Pope  had  previously 
granted  the  privilege  of  sealing  with  lead  instead  of  wax — 
another  imperial  attribute.  To  all  this  picturesque  nar- 
rative Romanin  again  presents  an  array  of  chilling  facts, 
proving  that  the  Pope  and  emperor  left  Venice  singly  on 
different  dates,  and  that  the  doges  of  Venice  had  carried 
the  umbrella  and  used  the  leaden  bollo  long  before  Ziani 
— all  which  is  very  disconcerting.  It  seems  to  be  true, 
however,  that  during  the  stay  of  the  Pope  in  Venice  the 
feast  of  the  Sensa — Ascension  Day — was  held  with  special 
solemnity,  and  its  pageant  fully  recorded  for  the  first 
time.  The  doge  went  forth  in  the  Bucintoro,  which  here 
suddenly  springs  into  knowledge,  all  decorated  and 
glorious,  with  his  umbrella  over  his  head,  a  white  flag 
which  the  Pope  had  given  him  flying  beside  the  standard 
of  St.  Mark,  the  silver  trumpets  sounding,  the  clergy 
with  him  and  all  the  great  potentates  of  the  city,  and 
Venice  following,  small  and  great,  in  every  kind  of  barge 
or  skiff  which  could  venture  on  the  lagoon.  It  is  said  to 
have  been  with  a  ring  which  the  Pope  had  given  him  that 
old  Ziani  wedded  the  sea.  Whether  the  ceremony  had 
fallen  into  disuse,  or  if  our  chroniclers  merely  forgot 
that  they  had  assigned  it  to  an  earlier  date,  or  if  this  was 
the  moment  when  the  simpler  primitive  rite  was  changed 
into  its  later  form,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  must  be 
added  that  the  strange  travesty  of  history  thus  put 
together  is  regarded  with  a  certain  doubt  by  the  chroni- 
clers themselves.  Sabellico  for  one  falters  over  it.  He 
would  not  have  ventured  to  record  it,  he  says,  if  he  had 
not  found  the  account  confirmed  by  every  writer,  both 
Venetian  and  foreign.  "And, "says  Sanudo,  "Is  it  not 
depicted  in  the  hall  of  the  great  council?  Se  non  fosse 
stata  vera  i  nostri  buoni  Venetiani  noil  avrebbero  mat  fatta 
depingere" — (if  it  had  not  been  true  our  good  Venetians 
never  would  have  had  it  painted). 

It  was  during  the  stormy  reign  of  Vitale  Michieli,  in 
the  midst  of  the  bitter  and  violent  quarrel  between  the 
Greek  Emperor  Emmanuel  and  the  Venetians,  when 
ambassadors  were  continually  coming  and  going,  that  an 


THE   DOGES.  55 

outrage,  which  cannot  be  called  other  than  historical, 
and  yet  can  be  supported  by  no  valid  proof,  is  said  to 
have  been  inflicted  upon  one  of  the  messengers  of  Venice. 
This  was  the  noble  Arrigo  or  Enrico  Dandolo,  afterward 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  doges,  and  the 
avenger  of  all  Venetian  wrongs  upon  the  Greeks.  The 
story  is  that  in  the  course  of  some  supposed  diplomatic 
consultation  he  was  seized  and  had  his  eyes  put  out  by 
red-hot  irons — according  to  a  pleasant  custom  which  the 
Greeks  of  that  day  indulged  in  largely.  It  is  unlikely 
that  this  could  be  true,  since  it  is  impossible  to  believe 
that  the  Venetians  would  have  resumed  peaceable  negotia- 
tions after  such  an  outrage;  but  it  is  a  fact  that  Dandolo 
has  always  been  called  the  blind  doge,  and  even  the 
scrupulous  Romanin  finds  reason  to  suppose  that  some 
injury  had  been  inflicted  upon  the  ambassadors.  Dan- 
dolo's  blindness,  however,  must  have  been  only  compara- 
tive. The  French  chronicler  Villehardouin  describes 
him  as  having  fine  eyes,  which  scarcely  saw  anything, 
and  attributes  this  to  the  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  sight 
from  a  wound  in  the  head.  Dandolo's  descendant,  suc- 
cessor, and  historian,  however,  says  only  that  he  was  of 
weak  vision,  and  as  he  was  at  the  time  eighty-four,  there 
would  be  nothing  remarkable  in  that.  Enrico  Dandolo 
was  elected  doge  in  1193,  after  the  death  of  Orio  Mastro- 
pietro,  who  succeeded  Ziani,  and  whose  reign  was  not 
marked  by  any  special  incident. 

Dandolo  was  the  first  doge,  if  not  to  sign  the  promts- 
stone,  or  solemn  ducal  oath  of  fidelity  to  all  the  laws  and 
customs  of  the  republic,  at  least  to  reach  the  period  of 
history  when  such  documents  began  to  be  preserved. 
His  oath  is  full  of  details,  which  show  the  jealousy  of 
the  new  regime  in  defining  and  limiting  the  doge's  powers. 
He  vows  not  only  to  rule  justly,  to  accept  no  bribes,  to 
show  no  favoritism,  to  subordinate  his  own  affairs  and 
all  others  to  the  interests  of  the  city,  but  also  not  to 
write  letters  on  his  own  account  to  the  Pope  or  any  other 
prince;  to  submit  his  own  affairs  to  the  arbitrament  of 
the  common  tribunals,  and  to  maintain  two  ships  of  war 
at  his  own  expense — stipulations  which  must  have  required 
no  small  amount  of  self-control  on  the  part  of  men 
scarcely  as  yet  educated  to  the  duties  of  constitutional 
princes.  The  beginning  of  Dandolo's  reign  was  dis- 


50  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

tinguished  by  the  usual  expeditions  to  clear  the  Adriatic 
and  reconfirm  Venetian  supremacy  on  the  Dalmatian 
coast;  also,  by  what  was  beginning  to  be  equally  common, 
certain  conflicts  with  the  Pisans,  who  began  to  rival 
Venice  in  the  empire  of  the  seas.  These  smaller  com- 
motions, however,  were  dwarfed  and  thrown  into  the 
shade  by  the  great  expedition,  known  in  history  as  the 
Fourth  Crusade,  which  ended  in  the  destruction  of  Con- 
stantinople and  great  aggrandizement  of  the  republic, 
but,  so  far  as  the  objects  of  the  Crusade  were  concerned, 
in  nothing. 

The  setting  out  of  this  expedition  affords  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  and  striking  scenes  in  Venetian  history, 
though  its  details  come  to  us  rather  from  the  chronicles 
of  the  Crusade  than  from  the  ancient  historians  of  Venice, 
who  record  them  briefly  with  a  certain  ^indifference  and 
at  the  same  time  with  a  frankness  which  sounds  cynical. 
Perhaps  the  conviction  of  a  later  age,  that  the  part  played 
by  Venice  was  not  a  very  noble  one,  may  have  here 
restrained  the  record.  "In  those  days  a  great  occasion 
presented  itself  to  the  Venetians  to  increase  their 
dominions,"  Sabellico  says,  calmly  putting  aside  all  pre- 
tense at  more  generous  motives.  Villehardouin,  how- 
ever, has  left  a  succession  of  pictures  which  could  not  be 
surpassed  in  graphic  force,  and  which  place  all  the  pre- 
liminaries before  us  in  the  most  brilliant  daylight.  He 
describes  how  the  French  princes  who  had  taken  the 
cross  sent  an  embassy  to  Venice  in  order  to  arrange,  if 
possible,  for  means  of  transport  to  the  Holy  Land — six 
noble  Frenchmen,  in  all  their  bravery  and  fine  manners, 
and  fortunately  with  that  one  among  them  who  carried  a 
pen  as  well  as  a  sword.  It  is  evident  that  this  proposal 
was  considered  on  either  side  as  highly  important,  and 
was  far  from  being  made  or  received  as  merely  a  matter 
of  business.  The  French  messengers  threw  themselves 
at  once  upon  the  generosity,  the  Christian  feeling,  of  the 
masters  of  the  sea.  Money  and  men  they  had  in  plenty; 
but  only  Venice,  so  powerful  on  the  seas,  so  rich,  and  at 
peace  with  all  her  neighbors,  could  give  them  ships. 
From  the  beginning  their  application  is  an  entreaty,  and 
their  prayers  supported  by  every  argument  that  earnest- 
ness could  suggest.  The  doge  received  them  in  the  same 
solemn  manner,  submitting  their  petition  to  the  council, 


. 


l>editions  to- 
il  supremacy   on    the    Dalmatian 
as  beginning  to  be  equally  common, 
•.vtth    the    Pisans,   who   began  to  rival 
ire  of  the  seas.     These  smaller  com- 
ver,  were  dwarfed  and  thrown   into  the 
great  expedition,  known  in  history  as  the 
asade,  which  ended  in  the  destruction  of  Con- 
pie   and   great  aggrandizement  of  the   republic, 
>  far  as  the  objects  of  thr  were  concerned, 

othing. 

The  setting  out  of  this  -is   one  of  the 

most  picturesque  ,.in)    '•  tory> 

though  its  details 
of  the  Crusade  th; 
who  record  thc.rc 

at  the  same  ti?  jical. 

Perhaps  the  <  irt  played 

by   Venice   was  .  may   have   here 

restrained  the  ys  a  great  occasion 

piiNXBROoA  OF  SAN  MARCO,  ENTRANCE  TO>THfec€fl0rR  tneir 
dominions,"  S  iside  all  pre- 

tense  at  more  gene  "udouin,   how- 

ever, has  left  a  succe-  could  not  be 

surpass^  in  graphic  i  'i  the  pre- 

:,ri  s  before  us  i: 
•:ib~^   ::cw   the  French 
•at    in  embassy  to 
f>>r    vu%ans  of  traT 
a,  in  all  tin 
•sati  iy  *;th  that  oi 

\s  y  xii-  >rd.      It  is  '  osal 

i  I.MI  Cither  side  .  '.  and 

le  or  rer  .;  matter 

'<".  mess  -mselves 

enc;  •-:;.>-,  tli'  ig,  of  the 

Mi.-'v»  y  and  mer;  cl  in  plenty; 

i\vf-n':»!  on  the  seas,  so  rich,  and  at 

could   give   then 

Froi;,  .ion  is  an  entreaty 

their  p..  i^ument  thnt    - 

ness  coui.  -•  doge  received  the 

solemn  ir 


THE   DOGES.  57 

and  requiring  again  and  again  certain  days  of  delay  in 
order  that  the  matter  should  be  fully  debated.  It  was  at 
last  settled  with  royal  magnificence  not  only  that  the 
ships  should  be  granted,  but  that  the  republic  should  fit 
out  fifty  galleys  of  her  own  to  increase  the  force  of  the 
expedition;  after  which,  everything  being  settled  (which 
again  throws  a  curious  side-light  upon  popular  govern- 
ment), the  doge  called  the  Venetians  together  in  San 
Marco — ten  thousand  of  them  in  the  most  beautiful 
church  that  ever  was,  says  the  Frenchman — and  bade  the 
strangers  plead  their  own  cause  before  the  people. 
When  we  consider  that  everything  was  arranged  before- 
hand, it  takes  something  from  the  effect  of  the  scene  and 
suggests  uncomfortable  ideas  of  solemn  deceits  practiced 
upon  the  populace  in  all  such  circumstances — but  in  itself 
the  picture  is  magnificent. 

Mass  being  celebrated,  the  doge  called  the  ambassa- 
dors, and  told  them  to  ask  humbly  of  the  people  whether 
the  proposed  arrangement  should  be  carried  into  effect. 
Godfrey  de  Villehardouin  then  stood  forth  to  speak  in  the 
name  of  all,  with  the  following  result: 

"  Messieurs,  the  noblest  and  most  powerful  barons  of  France  have 
sent  us  to  you,  to  pray  you  to  have  pity  upon  Jerusalem  in  bondage  to 
the  Turk,  and  for  the  love  of  God  to  accompany  us  to  avenge  the  shame 
of  Christ ;  and  knowing  that  no  nation  is  so  powerful  on  the  seas  as  you, 
they  have  charged  us  to  implore  your  aid  and  not  to  rise  from  our  knees 
till  you  have  consented  to  have  pity  upon  the  Holy  Land." 

With  this  the  six  ambassadors  knelt  down,  weeping.  The  doge  and 
all  the  people  then  cried  out  with  one  voice,  raising  their  hands  to 
heaven,  "  We  grant  it,  we  grant  it !  "  And  so  great  was  the  sound  that 
nothing  ever  equaled  it.  The  good  doge  of  Venice,  who  was  most 
wise  and  brave,  then  ascended  the  pulpit  and  spoke  to  the  people. 
"  Signori,"  he  said,  "  you  see  the  honor  which  God  has  done  you,  that 
the  greatest  nation  on  earth  has  left  all  other  peoples  in  order  to  ask 
your  company,  that  you  should  share  with  them  this  great  undertaking 
which  is  the  reconquest  of  Jerusalem."  Many  other  fine  and  wise 
things  were  said  by  the  doge  which  I  cannot  here  recount.  And  thus 
the  matter  was  concluded." 

It  must  have  been  a  strange  and  imposing  sight  for 
these  feudal  lords  to  see  the  crowd  that  filled  San  Marco, 
and  overflowed  in  the  Piazza,  the  vast  trading,  seafaring 
multitude  tanned  with  the  sunshine  and  the  sea,  full  of 
their  own  importance,  listening  like  men  who  had  to  do 
it,  no  submissive  crowd  of  vassals,  but  each  conscious 
(though,  as  we  have  seen,  with  but  little  reason)  that  he 


58  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

individually  was  appealed  to,  while  those  splendid  peti- 
tioners knelt  and  wept — moved,  no  doubt,  on  their  side 
by  that  wonderful  sea  of  faces,  by  the  strange  circum- 
stances, and  the  rising  wave  of  enthusiasm  which  began 
to  move  the  crowd.  The  old  doge,  rising  up  in  the 
pulpit,  looking  with  dim  eyes  across  the  heads  of  the 
multitude,  with  the  great  clamor  of  the  ' '  Concediomo  " 
still  echoing  under  the  dome,  the  shout  of  an  enthusiastic 
nation,  gives  the  last  touch  of  pictorial  effect.  His  eyes 
still  glowed,  though  there  was  so  little  vision  in  them; 
pride  and  policy  and  religious  enthusiasm  all  mingled  in 
his  words  and  looks.  The  greatest  nation  of  the  world 
had  come  as  a  suppliant — who  could  refuse  her  petition? 
This  was  in  the  winter,  early  in  the  year  1201.  It  is  not 
difficult  to  imagine  the  wintry  afternoon,  the  dim  glories 
of  the  choir  going  off  into  a  golden  gloom  behind,  the 
lights  glimmering  upon  the  altars,  the  confused  move- 
ment and  emotion  of  the  countless  crowd,  indistinct 
under  the  great  arches,  extending  into  every  corner — 
while  all  the  light  there  was  concentrated  in  the  white 
hair  and  cloth  of  gold  of  the  venerable  figure  to  which 
every  eye  was  turned,  standing  up  against  the  screen  at 
the  foot  of  the  great  cross. 

The  republic  by  this  bargain  was  pledged  to  provide 
transport  for  four  thousand  five  hundred  cavaliers,  and 
nearly  thirty  thousand  men  on  foot;  along  with  provisions 
for  a  year  for  this  multitude;  for  which  the  Frenchmen 
pledged  themselves  to  pay  eighty-five  thousand  silver 
marks  "according  to  the  weight  of  Cologne,"  in  four 
different  installments.  The  contingent  of  Venice,  apart 
from  this,  was  to  consist  of  fifty  galleys.  The  ships  were 
to  be  ready  at  the  feast  of  SS.  Peter  and  Paul  in  the  same 
year,  when  the  first  installment  of  the  money  was  to  be 
paid. 

In  the  meantime,  however,  while  the  workmen  in  the 
arsenal  were  busily  at  work,  and  trade  must  have 
quickened  throughout  Venice,  various  misfortunes 
happened  to  the  other  parties  to  the  engagement. 
Young  Thibaut  of  Champagne  died  in  the  flower  of  his 
youth,  and  many  small  parties  of  Crusaders  went  off  from 
other  quarters  in  other  vessels  than  those  of  Venice;  so 
that  when  at  last  the  expedition  arrived  it  was  consider- 
ably diminished  in  numbers,  and,  what  was  still  more 


THE    DOGES.  59 

disastrous,  the  leaders  found  themselves  unable  to  pay 
the  first  installment  of  the  appointed  price.  The  knights 
denuded  themselves  of  all  their  valuables,  but  this  was 
still  insufficient.  In  these  circumstances  an  arrangement, 
was  resorted  to  which  produced  many  and  great  compli- 
cations, and  changed  altogether  the  character  of  the 
expedition.  Venice  has  been  in  consequence  reproached 
with  the  worldliness  and  selfishness  of  her  intentions. 
It  has  been  made  to  appear  that  her  religious  fervor  was 
altogether  false,  and  her  desire  to  push  her  own  interests 
her  sole  motive.  No  one  will  attempt  to  deny  that  this 
kind  of  selfishness,  which  in  other  words  is  often  called 
patriotism,  was  very  strong  in  her.  But  on  the  other 
side  it  would  be  hard  to  say  that  it  was  with  any  far-see- 
ing plan  of  self-aggrandizement  that  the  republic  began 
this  great  campaign,  or  that  Dandolo  and  his  counselors 
perceived  how  far  they  should  go  before  their  enterprise 
was  brought  to  an  end.  They  were  led  on  from  point  to 
point  like  those  whom  they  influenced,  and  were  them- 
selves betrayed  by  circumstances  and  a  crowd  of  second- 
ary motives,  as  well  as  the  allies  whom  they  are  believed 
to  have  betrayed. 

The  arrangement  proposed  was,  since  the  Crusaders 
could  not  pay  the  price  agreed  for  their  ships,  that  they 
should  delay  their  voyage  to  the  Holy  Land  long  enough 
to  help  the  Venetians  in  subduing  Zara,  which  turbulent 
city  had  again,  as  on  every  possible  occasion,  rebelled. 
The  greater  part  of  the  Frenchmen  accepted  the  proposal 
with  alacrity;  though  some  objected  that  to  turn  their 
arms  against  Christians,  however  rebellious,  was  not  the 
object  of  the  soldiers  of  the  cross.  In  the  long  run, 
however,  and  notwithstanding  the  remonstrances  of  Pope 
Innocent,  of  which  the  independent  Venetians  made  light, 
the  bargain  was  accepted  on  all  hands,  and  all  the  pre- 
liminaries concluded  at  last.  Another  of  the  wonderful 
scenic  displays  with  which  almost  every  important  step 
was  accompanied  in  Venice  took  place  before  the  final 
start. 

One  day,  upon  a  Sunday,  all  the  people  of  the  city,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  barons  and  pilgrims,  met  in  San  Marco.  Before  Mass  began 
the  doge  rose  in  the  pulpit  and  spoke  to  the  people  in  this  manner  : 
"  Signori,  you  are  associated  with  the  greatest  nation  in  the  world  in  the 
most  important  matter  which  can  be  undertaken  by  men.  I  am  old  and 


60  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

weak  and  need  rest,  having  many  troubles  in  the  body,  but  I  perceive 
that  none  can  so  well  guide  and  govern  you  as  I  who  am  your  lord.  If 
you  will  consent  that  I  should  take  the  sign  of  the  cross  to  care  for  you 
and  direct  you,  and  that  my  son  should,  in  my  stead,  regulate  the  affairs 
•of  the  city,  I  will  go  to  live  and  die  with  you  and  the  pilgrims." 

When  they  heard  this,  they  cried  with  one  voice,  "Yes!  we  pray 
you,  in  the  name  of  God,  take  it  and  come  with  us." 

Then  the  people  of  the  country  and  the  pilgrims  were  greatly  moved 
and  shed  many  tears,  because  this  heroic  man  had  so  many  reasons  for 
remaining  at  hojne,  being  old.  But  he  was  strong  and  of  a  great  heart. 
He  then  descended  from  the  pulpit  and  knelt  before  the  altar,  weeping, 
and  the  cross  was  sewn  upon  the  front  of  his  great  cap,  so  that  all  might 
see  it.  And  the  Venetians  that  day  in  great  numbers  took  the  cross. 

It  was  in  October,  1202,  that  the  expedition  finally 
sailed,  a  great  fleet  of  nearly  three  hundred  ships;  the 
Frenchmen  in  their  shining  mail  with  their  great  war- 
horses  furnishing  a  wonderful  spectacle  for  the  Vene- 
tians, to  whom  these  noble  creatures,  led  unwillingly  on 
board  the  galleys,  were  so  little  familiar.  The  whole 
city  watched  the  embarkation  with  excitement  and  high 
commotion;  no  doubt  with  many  a  woman's  tears  and 
wistful  looks,  anguish  of  the  old,  and  more  impassioned 
grief  of  the  young,  as  the  fifty  galleys  which  contained 
the  Venetianj  contingent  slowly  filled  with  all  the  best 
in  the  republic,  the  old  doge  at  their  head.  Bound  for 
the  Holy  Land,  to  deliver  it  from  the  infidel!  That,  no 
doubt,  was  what  the  people  believed  who  had  granted 
with  acclamation  their  aid  to  the  barons  in  San  Marco. 
And  to  watch  the  great  fleet  which  streamed  along,  with 
all  its  sails,  against  the  sunshine  through  the  tortuous, 
narrow  channels  that  thread  the  lagoon;  line  after  line  of 
high-beaked  painted  galleys,  with  their  endless  oars,  and 
all  their  bravery;  it  must  have  seemed  as  if  the  very  sea 
had  become  populous,  and  such  a  host  must  carry  all 
before  it.  Days  must  have  passed  in  bustle  and  com- 
motion ere,  with  the  rude  appliances  of  their  time,  three 
hundred  vessels  could  have  been  got  under  way.  They 
streamed  down  the  Adriatic,  a  maritime  army  rather  than 
a  fleet,  imposing  to  behold;  frightening  the  turbulent 
towns  along  the  coast  which  were  so  ready,  when  the 
Venetian  galleys  were  out  of  sight,  to  rebel — and  arrived 
before  Zara  in  crushing  strength.  The  citizens  closed 
the  harbor  with  a  chain,  and  with  a  garrison  of  Hun- 
garians to  help  them,  made  a  brave  attempt  to  defend 


THE   DOGES.  6 1 

themselves.  But  against  such  an  overwhelming  force 
their  efforts  were  in  vain,  and  after  a  resistance  of  five 
days  the  city  surrendered.  It  was  by  this  time  the 
middle  of  November,  and  to  tempt  the  wintry  sea  at  that 
season  was  contrary  to  the  habits  of  the  time.  The 
expedition  accordingly  remained  at  Zara,  where  many 
things  took  place  which  decided  the  course  of  its  after 
movements.  It  was  not  a  peaceful  pause.  The  French 
and  the  Venetians  quarreled  in  the  first  place  over  their 
booty  or  their  privileges  in  the  sacked  and  miserable 
city.  When  that  uproar  was  calmed,  which  took  the 
leaders  some  time,  another  trouble  arrived  in  the  shape 
of  letters  from  Pope  Innocent,  which  disturbed  the 
French  chiefs  greatly,  though  the  old  doge  and  his 
counselors  paid  but  little  attention.  Innocent  called 
the  Crusaders  to  account  for  shedding  Christian  blood 
when  they  ought  to  have  been  shedding  pagan,  and  for 
sacking  a  city  which  belonged  to  their  brethren  in  the 
faith,  to  whom  he  commanded  them  to  make  restitution 
and  reparation.  Whether  the  penitent  barons  gave  up 
their  share  of  the  booty  is  not  told  us,  but  they  wrote 
humble  letters  asking  pardon,  and  declaring  that  to  take 
Zara  was  a  necessity  which  they  had  no  power  to  resist. 
The  Pope  was  moved  by  their  submission,  but  com- 
manded them  to  proceed  to  Syria  with  all  possible  speed, 
"  neither  turning  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,"  and 
as  soon  as  they  had  disembarked  on  the  Syrian  shores  to 
separate  themselves  from  the  Venetians,  who  seem  to 
have  been  excommunicated  (which  did  not  greatly  dis- 
turb them)  for  their  indifference  to  the  papal  commands. 
This  correspondence  with  Rome  must  have  given  a 
certain  amount  of  variety,  if  not  of  a  very  agreeable  kind, 
to  the  winter  sojourn  on  the  Adriatic,  confused  with 
tumults  of  the  soldiery  and  incessant  alarms  lest  their 
quarrels  should  break  out  afresh;  quarrels  which — carried 
on  in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  people  bitterly  rejoicing  to 
see  their  conquerors  at  enmity  among  themselves,  and 
encouraged  by  the  knowledge  that  the  Pope  had  inter- 
fered on  their  behalf — must  have  made  the  invaders 
doubly  uncomfortable.  From  the  Venetian  side  there  is 
not  a  word  of  the  excommunication  leveled  against  them- 
selves, and  generally  so  terrible  a  weapon.  Such  punish- 
ments perhaps  were  more  easily  borne  abroad  than  at 


62  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

home,  and   the   republic  already   stoutly   held  its  inde- 
pendence from  all  external  interference. 

While  Pope  Innocent's  letters  were  thus  occupying  all 
minds,  and  the  French  Crusaders  chafing  at  the  delay, 
and  perhaps  also  at  the  absence  of  all  excitement  and 
occupation  in  the  Dalmatian  town,  another  incident 
occurred  of  the  most  picturesque  character,  as  well  as 
of  the  profoundest  importance.  This  was — first,  the 
arrival  of  ambassadors  from  the  Emperor  Philip  of 
Swabia  with  letters  recommending  the  young  Alexius, 
the  son  of  Isaac,  dethroned  Emperor  of  the  Greeks,  to 
the  Crusaders;  and  secondly  that  young  prince  himself, 
an  exile  and  wanderer,  with  all  the  recommendations 
of  injured  helplessness  and  youth  in  his  favor.  The 
ambassadors  brought  letters  telling  such  a  story  as  was 
most  fit  to  move  the  chivalrous  leaders  of  the  Christian 
host.  The  youth  for  whom  their  appeal  was  made  was 
the  true  heir  of  the  great  house  of  Comnenus,  born  in  the 
purple;  a  young  Hamlet  whose  father  had  been,  not  killed, 
but  overthrown,  blinded,  and  imprisoned  by  his  own 
brother,  and  now  lay  miserable  in  a  dungeon  at  Constanti- 
nople while  the  usurper  reigned  in  his  stead.  What  tale 
so  likely  to  move  the  pity  of  the  knights  and  barons  of 
France?  And,  the  suppliants  added,  what  enterprise  so 
fit  to  promote  and  facilitate  the  object  of  the  Crusaders? 
For  Constantinople  had  always  been  a  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  the  conquest  of  Syria,  and  now  more  than  ever, 
when  a  false  and  cruel  usurper  was  on  the  throne; 
whereas,  if  old  Isaac  and  his  young  son  were  restored,  the 
Crusaders  would  secure  a  firm  footing,  a  stronghold  of 
moral  as  well  as  physical  support  in  the  East,  which  would 
make  their  work  easy.  One  can  imagine  the  high  excite- 
ment, the  keen  discussions,  the  eagerness  of  some,  the 
reluctance  of  others,  the  heat  of  debate  and  diverse 
opinion  which  arose  in  the  camp.  There  were  some 
among  the  pilgrims  upon  whom  the  Pope's  disapproval 
lay  heavy,  and  who  longed  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  get 
away,  to  have  the  wearisome  preliminaries  of  the  voyage 
over,  and  to  find  themselves  upon  the  holy  soil  which 
they  had  set  out  to  deliver;  while  there  were  some,  per- 
haps more  generous  than  devout,  to  whom  the  story  of 
the  poor  young  prince,  errant  through  the  world  in 
search  of  succor,  and  the  blind  imperial  prisoner  in  the 


THE    DOGES.  63 

dungeon,  was  touching  beyond  description,  calling  forth 
every  sentiment  of  knighthood.  The  Venetians  had  still 
another  most  moving  motive;  it  seems  scarcely  possible 
to  believe  that  they  did  not  at  once  perceive  the  immense 
and  incalculable  interests  involved.  They  were  men  of 
strictly  practical  vision,  and  Constantinople  was  their 
market-place  at  once  and  their  harvest  ground.  To 
establish  a  permanent  footing  there  by  all  the  laws  of 
honor  and  gratitude — what  a  thing  for  Venice!  It  is  not 
necessary  to  conclude  that  they  were  untouched  by  other 
inducements.  They,  better  than  any,  knew  how  many 
hindrances  Constantinople  could  throw  in  the  way;  how 
treacherous  her  support  was;  how  cunning  her  enmity, 
and  what  an  advantage  it  would  be  to  all  future  enter- 
prises if  a  power  bound  to  the  west  by  solid  obligations 
could  be  established  on  the  Bosphorus.  Nor  is  it  to  be 
supposed  that  as  men  they  were  inaccessible  to  the  pleas 
of  humanity  and  justice  urged  by  Philip.  But  at  the 
same  time  the  dazzle  of  the  extraordinary  advantages 
thus  set  before  themselves  must  have  been  as  a  glamour 
in  their  eyes. 

It  was  while  the  whole  immense,  tumultuous  band,  the 
Frenchmen  and  knights  of  Flanders,  the  barons  of  the 
Low  Country,  the  sailor  princes  of  the  republic,  were 
in  full  agitation  over  this  momentous  question,  and  all 
was  uncertainty  and  confusion,  that  the  young  Alexius 
arrived  at  Zara.  There  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the 
agitation  to  receive  as  was  his  due  this  imperial  wan- 
derer, so  young,  so  high-born,  so  unfortunate.  The 
Marquis  of  Montserrato  was  his  near  kinsman,  his  rank 
was  undoubted,  and  his  misfortunes,  the  highest  claim  of 
all,  were  known  to  everyone.  The  troops  were  turned 
out  to  receive  him  with  all  the  pomp  of  military  display, 
the  doge's  silver  trumpets  sounding,  and  all  that  the 
Crusaders  could  boast  of  in  music  and  magnificence. 
The  monks,  who  had  been  pressing  hotly  from  band  to 
band,  urging  Pope  Innocent's  commands  and  the  woes  of 
Jerusalem;  the  warlike  leaders,  who  had  been  anxiously 
attempting  to  reconcile  their  declared  purpose  with  the 
strong  temptations  of  such  a  chivalrous  undertaking — 
all  for  the  moment  arrested  their  arguments,  their  self- 
reasonings,  their  mutual  upbraidings,  to  hear  what  their 
young  guest  had  to  say.  And  Alexius  had  everything  to 


64  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

say  that  extreme  necessity  could  suggest.  He  would 
give  subsidies  unlimited — two  hundred  thousand  marks 
of  silver,  all  the  costs  of  the  expedition,  as  much  as  it 
pleased  them  to  require.  He  would  himself  accompany 
the  expedition,  he  would  furnish  two  thousand  men  at 
once,  and  for  all  his  life  maintain  five  hundred  knights 
for  the  defense  of  Jerusalem.  Last  of  all,  and  greatest, 
he  vowed — a  bait  for  Innocent  himself,  an  inducement 
which  must  have  stopped  the  words  of  remonstrance  on 
the  lips  of  the  priests  and  made  their  eyes  glow — to 
renounce  forever  the  Greek  heresy  and  bring  the  Eastern 
Church  to  the  supremacy  at  Rome! 

Whether  it  was  this  last  motive,  or  simply  a  rush  of 
sudden  enthusiasm,  such  as  was,  and  still  is,  apt  to  seize 
upon  a  multitude,  the  scruples  and  the  doubts  of  the 
Crusaders  melted  like  wax  before  the  arguments  of  the 
young  prince,  and  his  cause  seems  to  have  been  taken  up 
by  general  consent.  A  few  pilgrims  of  note  indeed  left 
the  expedition  and  attempted  to  find  another  way  to  the 
Holy  Land,  but  it  was  with  very  slightly  diminished 
numbers  that  the  expedition  set  sail  in  April,  1203,  for 
Constantinople.  Zara  celebrated  their  departure  by  an 
immediate  rising,  once  more  asserting  its  independence, 
and  necessitating  a  new  expedition  sent  by  Renier  Dan- 
dolo,  the  doge's  son  and  deputy,  to  do  all  the  work  of 
subjugation  over  again.  But  that  was  an  occurrence  of 
every  day. 

The  Crusaders  went  to  Corfu  first,  where  they  were 
received  with  acclamation,  the  islanders  offering  at  once 
their  homage  to  Alexius;  and  lingered  thereabouts  until 
the  eve  of  Pentecost,  when  they  set  sail  directly  for  Con- 
stantinople. Over  these  summer  seas  the  crowd  of 
ships  made  their  way  with  ensigns  waving  and  lances 
glittering  in  the  sun,  like  an  army  afloat,  as  indeed  they 
were,  making  the  air  resound  with  their  trumpets  and 
warlike  songs.  The  lovely  islands,  the  tranquil  waters, 
the  golden  shores,  filled  these  northmen  with  enthusiasm 
— nothing  so  beautiful,  so  luxuriant,  so  wealthy  and  fair, 
had  ever  been  seen.  Where  was  the  coward  who  would 
not  dare  to  strike  a  blow  for  such  a  land?  The  islands, 
as  they  passed,  received  Alexius  with  joy;  all  was  festal 
and  splendid  in  the  advance.  It  was  the  24th  of  June, 
the  full  glory  of  midsummer,  when  the  fleet  passed  close 


THE   DOGES.  65 

under  the  walls  of  Constantinople.  We  need  not  enter 
into  a  detailed  description  of  the  siege.  The  Venetians 
would  seem  to  have  carried  off  the  honors  of  the  day. 
The  French  soldiers  having  failed  in  their  first  assault  by 
land,  the  Venetians,  linking  a  number  of  galleys  together 
by  ropes,  ran  them  ashore,  and  seem  to  have  gained 
possession,  almost  without  pausing  to  draw  breath,  of  a 
portion  of  the  city.  We  will  quote  from  Gibbon,  whose 
classical  splendor  of  style  is  so  different  from  the  graphic 
simplicity  of  our  chroniclers,  a  description  of  this  extraor- 
dinary attack.  He  is  not  a  historian  generally  favor- 
able to  the  Venetians,  so  that  his  testimony  may  be  taken 
as  an  impartial  one. 

On  the  side  of  the  harbor  the  attack  was  more  successfully  conducted 
by  the  Venetians;  and  that  industrious  people  employed  every  resource 
that  was  known  and  practiced  before  the  invention  of  gunpowder.  A 
double  line,  three  bowshots  in  front,  was  formed  by  the  galleys  and 
ships  ;  and  the  swift  motion  of  the  former  was  supported  by  the  weight 
and  loftiness  of  the  latter,  whose  decks  and  poops  and  turrets  were  the 
platforms  of  military  engines  that  discharged  their  shot  over  the  heads  of 
the  first  line.  The  soldiers  who  leaped  from  the  galleys  on  shore  imme- 
diately planted  and  ascended  their  scaling  ladders,  while  the  large  ships, 
advancing  more  slowly  into  the  intervals  and  lowering  a  drawbridge, 
opened  a  way  through  the  air  from  their  masts  to  the  rampart.  In  the 
midst  of  the  conflict  the  doge's  venerable  and  conspicuous  form  stood 
aloft  in  complete  armor  on  the  prow  of  his  galley.  The  great  standard 
of  St.  Mark  was  displayed  before  him  ;  his  threats,  promises,  and  exhor- 
tations urged  the  diligence  of  the  rowers  ;  his  vessel  was  the  first  that 
struck ;  and  Dandolo  was  the  first  warrior  on  shore.  The  nations 
admired  the  magnanimity  of  the  blind  old  man,  without  reflecting  that 
his  age  and  infirmities  diminished  the  price  of  life  and  enhanced  the  value 
of  immortal  glory.  On  a  sudden,  by  an  invisible  hand  (for  the  standard 
bearer  was  probably  slain),  the  banner  of  the  republic  was  fixed  on  the 
rampart,  twenty-five  towers  were  rapidly  occupied,  and,  by  the  cruel 
expedient  of  fire,  the  Greeks  were  driven  from  the  adjacent  quarter. 

A  finer  battle-picture  than  this — of  the  galleys  fiercely 
driven  in  shore,  the  aged  prince  high  on  the  prow,  the 
Venetians  rushing  on  the  dizzy  bridge  from  the  rigging  to 
the  ramparts,  and  suddenly,  miraculously,  the  lion  of  St. 
Mark  unfolding  in  the  darkened  air  full  of  smoke  and  fire, 
and  bristling  showers  of  arrows — could  scarcely  be.  The 
chroniclers  of  Venice  say  nothing  of  it  all.  For  once  they 
fail  to  see  the  pictorial  effect,  the  force  of  the  dramatic 
situation.  Andrea  Dandolo's  moderate  description  of  his 
ancestor's  great  deed  is  all  we  have  to  replace  the  glowing 


66  THE    MAKERS    OF   VENICE. 

narrative  in  which  the  Venetians  have  recorded  other 
facts  in  their  history.  "  While  they  [the  French]  were," 
he  says,  "  pressed  hard,  on  account  of  their  small  num- 
bers, the  doge  with  the  Venetians  burst  into  the  city,  and 
he,  though  old  and  infirm  of  vision,  yet  being  brave  and 
eager  of  spirit,  joined  himself  to  the  French  warriors, 
and  all  of  them  together,  fighting  with  great  bravery, 
their  strength  reviving  and  their  courage  rising,  forced 
the  enemy  to  retire,  and  at  last,  the  Greeks  yielding  on 
every  side,  the  city  was  taken." 

The  results  of  the  victory  were  decisive,  if  not  lasting. 
The  old  blind  emperor  Isaac  was  taken  from  his  dun- 
geon— his  usurping  brother  having  fled — and  replaced 
upon  his  throne;  and  the  young  wanderer  Alexius,  the 
favorite  and  plaything  of  the  crusading  nobles,  the 
fanciullo,  as  the  Venetians  persist  in  calling  him,  was 
crowned  in  St.  Sophia  as  his  father's  coadjutor  with  great 
pomp  and  rejoicing.  But  this  moment  of  glory  was 
short-lived.  As  soon  as  the  work  was  done,  when  there 
began  to  be  talk  of  the  payment,  and  of  all  the  wonder- 
ful things  which  had  been  promised,  these  brilliant  skies 
were  clouded  over.  It  appeared  that  Alexius  had  neither 
authority  to  make  such  promises  nor  any  power  of  ful- 
filling them.  Not  even  the  money  could  be  paid  without 
provoking  new  rebellions;  and  as  for  placing  the  Greek 
Church  under  the  power  of  Rome,  that  was  more  than 
any  emperor  could  do.  Nor  was  this  all;  for  it  very  soon 
appeared  that  the  throne  set  up  by  foreign  arms  was  any- 
thing but  secure.  The  Crusaders,  who  had  intended  to 
push  on  at  once  to  their  destination,  the  Holy  Land,  were 
again  arrested,  partly  by  a  desire  to  secure  the  recom- 
pense promised  for  their  exertions,  partly  because  the 
young  prince,  whom  his  own  countrymen  disliked  for  his 
close  alliance  with  the  strangers,  implored  them  to 
remain  till  his  throne  should  be  more  firmly  established. 
But  that  throne  was  not  worth  a  year's  purchase  to  its 
young  and  unfortunate  tenant.  Notwithstanding  the 
great  camp  of  the  invaders  at  Galata,  and  the  Venetian 
galleys  in  the  Bosphorus,  another  sudden  revolution 
undid  everything  that  had  been  done.  The  first  assault 
had  been  made  in  June,  1203.  So  early  as  March  of  the 
next  year,  the  barons  and  the  doge  were  taking  grim 
counsel  together  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  with  the 


THE    DOGES.  67 

spoil — such  spoil  as  was  not  to  be  found  in  any  town  in 
Europe — when  they  should  have  seized  the  city,  in  which 
young  Alexius  lay  murdered,  and  his  old  father  dead  of 
misery  and  grief. 

The  second  siege  was  longer  and  more  difficult  than  the 
first,  for  the  new  emperor,  Marzoufle,  he  of  the  shaggy 
eyebrows,  was  bolder  and  more  determined  than  the 
former  usurper.  But  at  last  the  unhappy  city  was  taken, 
and  sacked  with  every  circumstance  of  horror  that  be- 
longs to  such  an  event.  The  chivalrous  Crusaders,  the 
brave  Venetians,  the  best  men  of  their  age,  either  did  not 
think  it  necessary,  or  were  unable  to  restrain  the  lowest 
instincts  of  an  excited  army.  And  what  was  terrible 
everywhere  was  worse  in  Constantinople,  the  richest  of  all 
existing  cities,  full  of  everything  that  was  most  exquisite 
in  art  and  able  in  invention.  "The  Venetians  only,  who 
were  of  gentler  soul,"  says  Romanin,  "took  thought  for 
the  preservation  of  those  marvelous  works  of  human 
genius,  transporting  them  afterward  to  Venice,  as  they 
did  the  four  famous  horses  which  now  stand  on  the  facade 
of  the  great  Basilica,  along  with  many  columns,  jewels,  and 
precious  stones,  with  which  they  decorated  the  Pala  d'oro 
and  the  treasury  of  San  Marco."  This  proof  of  gentler 
soul  was  equally  demonstrated  by  Napoleon  when  he 
carried  off  those  same  bronze  horses  to  Paris  in  the 
beginning  of  the  century,  but  it  was  not  appreciated  either 
by  Italy  or  the  world.  Altogether  this  chapter  in  the 
history  of  the  Venetian  armaments,  as  in  that  of  the 
Crusaders  and  Western  Christendom  in  general,  is  a 
terrible  and  painful  one.  The  pilgrims  had  got  into 
a  false  and  miserable  vortex,  from  which  they  could  not 
clear  their  feet.  All  that  followed  is  like  some  feverish 
and  horrible  dream,  through  which  the  wild  attempts  to 
bring  some  kind  of  order,  and  to  establish  a  new  rule,  and 
to  convince  themselves  that  they  were  doing  right  and 
not  wrong,  make  the  ruinous  complications  only  more 
apparent.  During  the  whole  period  of  their  lingering,  of 
their  besieging,  of  their  elections  of  Latin  emperors  and 
archbishops, — futile  and  short-lived  attempts  to  make 
something  of  their  conquest, — letters  from  Pope  Innocent 
were  raining  upon  them,  full  of  indignant  remonstrances, 
appeals,  and  reproaches;  and  little  groups  of  knights  were 
wandering  off  toward  their  proper  destination  sick  at 


68  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

heart,  while  the  rest  appointed  themselves  lords  and 
suzerains,  marshals  and  constables  of  a  country  which 
they  neither  understood  nor  could  rule. 

In  less  than  a  year  there  followed  the  disastrous  defeat 
of  Adrianople,  in  which  the  ranks  of  the  Crusaders  were 
broken,  and  the  unfortunate  newly  elected  emperor,  Bald- 
win, disappeared,  and  was  heard  of  no  more.  The  old 
doge,  Enrico  Dandolo,  died  shortly  after,  having  both  in 
success  and  defeat  performed  prodigies  of  valor,  which 
his  great  age  (ninety-seven,  according  to  the  chroniclers) 
makes  almost  incredible,  and  keeping  to  the  last  a  keen 
eye  upon  the  interests  of  Venice,  which  alone  were  for- 
warded by  all  that  had  happened.  But  he  never  saw  Venice 
again.  He  died  in  June,  1205, — two  years  after  the  first 
attack  upon  Constantinople,  three  years  after  his  departure 
from  Venice, — and  was  buried  in  St.  Sophia.  Notwith- 
standing the  royal  honors  that  we  are  told  attended  his 
funeral,  one  cannot  but  feel  that  the  dim  eyes  of  the  old 
warrior  must  have  turned  with  longing  to  the  rest  that 
ought  to  have  been  his  in  his  own  San  Marco,  and  that 
there  must  have  echoed  in  his  aged  heart  something  of 
a  pang  that  went  through  that  of  a  later  pilgrim  whose 
last  fear  it  was  that  he  should  lay  his  bones  far  from  the 
Tweed. 

We  read,  with  a  keen  perception  of  the  rapidity  with 
which  comedy  dogs  the  steps  of  tragedy  everywhere,  that 
one  Marino  Zeno,  hastily  appointed  after  Dandolo  as  the 
head  of  the  Venetians,  assumed  at  once  as  marks  of  his 
dignity  "  a  rose-colored  silk  stocking  on  his  right  foot  and 
a  white  silk  stocking  on  his  left,  along  with  the  imperial 
boots  and  purse."  This  was  one  outcome  of  all  the  blood 
and  misery,  the  dethronements,  the  sack,  the  general  ruin. 
The  doges  of  Venice  added  another  to  their  long  list  of 
titles — they  were  now  lords  of  Croatia,  Dalmatia,  and  of 
the  fourth  part  and  the  half  of  the  Roman  (or  Romanian) 
empire.  Dominus  quartce  partis  cum  dimidio  totius  Imperi 
Romanics.  And  all  the  Isles,  those  dangerous  and  vexa- 
tious little  communities  that  had  been  wont  to  harbor 
pirates  and  interrupt  traders,  fell  really  or  nominally  into 
the  hands  of  Venice.  They  were  a  troublesome  posses- 
sion, constantly  in  rebellion,  difficult  to  secure,  still  more 
difficult  to  keep,  as  the  Venetian  conquest  in  Dalmatia 
had  already  proved;  but  they  were  no  less  splendid  pos- 


THE   DOGES.  69 

sessions.  Candia  alone  was  a  jewel  for  any  emperor. 
The  republic  could  not  hold  these  islands,  putting  gar- 
risons into  them  at  her  own  expense  and  risk.  She  took 
the  wiser  way  of  granting  them  to  colonists  on  a  feudal 
tenure,  so  that  any  noble  Venetian  who  had  the  courage 
and  the  means  might  set  himself  up  with  a  little  seaborne 
principality  in  due  subjection  to  his  native  state,  but  with 
the  privilege  of  hunting  out  its  pirates  and  subduing  its 
rebellions  for  himself.  "To  divide,"  says  Sabellico,  "the 
public  forces  of  Venice  into  so  many  parts  would  have 
been  very  unsafe.  The  best  thing,  therefore,  seemed 
that  those  who  were  rich  should  fit  out,  according  to 
their  capabilities,  one  or  more  galleys,  and  other  ships  of 
the  kind  required.  And  there  being  no  doubt  that  many 
would  find  it  to  their  private  advantage  to  do  this,  it  fol- 
lowed that  the  republic  in  time  of  need  would  secure  the 
aid  of  these  armed  vessels,  and  that  each  place  acquired 
could  be  defended  by  them  with  the  aid  of  the  State — a 
thing  which  by  itself  the  republic  could  not  have  accom- 
plished except  with  much  expense  and  trouble.  It  was 
therefore  ordained  that  they  [who  undertook  this],  with 
their  wives  and  children  and  all  they  possessed,  might 
settle  in  these  islands,  and  that,  as  colonists  sent  by  the 
city,  their  safety  would  be  under  the  care  and  guarantee 
of  the  republic."  Many  private  persons,  he  adds,  armed 
for  this  undertaking. 

The  rambling  chronicle  of  Sanudo  gives  us  here  a 
romantic  story  of  the  conquest  of  Candia  by  his  own 
ancestor  Marco  Sanudo,  who,  according  to  this  narrative, 
having  swept  from  the  seas  a  certain  corsair  called  Arrigo 
or  Enrico  of  Malta,  became  master  of  the  island.  The 
inhabitants,  as  a  matter  of  course,  resisted  and  rebelled, 
but  not  in  the  usual  way.  "Accept  the  kingdom  as  our 
sovereign,"  their  envoys  said,  "or  in  three  hours  you 
must  leave  Candia."  This  flattering  but  embarrassing 
alternative  confounded  the  Venetian  leader.  But  he 
accepted  the  honor  thrust  upon  him,  writing  at  once, 
however,  to  the  doge,  telling  the  choice  that  had  been 
given  him,  and  how  he  had  accepted  it  from  necessity 
and  devotion  to  the  republic,  in  whose  name  he  meant  to 
hold  the  island.  The  Venetians  at  once  sent  twelve  ships 
of  war,  on  pretense  of  congratulating  him,  whom  he 
received  with  a  royal  welcome;  then,  handing  over  his 


70  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

government  to  the  commander  of  the  squadron,  took  to 
his  ships  and  left  the  dangerous  glory  of  the  insecure 
throne  behind  him.  It  is  a  pity  that  the  documents  do 
not  bear  out  this  pleasant  story.  But  if  a  man's  own 
descendant  does  not  know  the  rights  of  his  ancestor's 
actions,  who  should?  Sanudo  goes  on  to  relate  how,  as 
a  reward  for  this  magnanimous  renunciation,  his  fore- 
father was  allowed  the  command  of  the  fleet  for  a  year, 
and  with  this  scoured  the  sea  and  secured  island  after 
island,  placing  his  own  kinsmen  in  possession;  but  at 
last,  being  outnumbered,  was  taken  prisoner  in  a  naval 
engagement  by  the  admirals  of  the  Emperor  of  Constan- 
tinople (which  emperor  is  not  specified).  "But,"  says 
his  descendant,  "when  the  said  emperor  saw  his  valor- 
osity  and  beauty,  he  set  him  free,  and  gave  him  one  of 
his  sisters  in  marriage,  from  which  lady  are  descended 
almost  all  the  members  of  the  Ca'  Sanudo."  The  his- 
torian allows  with  dignified  candor  that  this  story  is  not 
mentioned  by  Marc  Antonio  Sabellico,  but  it  is  to  be 
found,  he  says,  in  the  other  chroniclers.  We  regret  to 
add  that  the  austere  Romanin  gives  a  quite  different 
account  of  the  exploits  of  Marco  Sanudo,  the  lord  of 
Naxos.  It  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  associated 
so  magnanimous  a  seaman  with  the  name  of  the  chronicler 
of  the  Crusades  and  the  indefatigable  diarist  to  whom 
later  Venetian  history  is  so  deeply  indebted. 

These  splendid  conquests  brought  enormous  increase 
of  wealth,  of  trade,  of  care,  and  endless  occupation  to 
the  republic.  Gained  and  lost,  and  regained  and  lost 
again;  fairly  fought  for,  strenuously  held;  a  source  per- 
haps at  all  times  of  more  weakness  than  strength,  they 
had  all  faded  out  of  the  tiara  of  the  republic  long  before 
she  was  herself  discrowned.  But  there  still  remains  in 
Venice  one  striking  evidence  of  the  splendid,  disastrous 
expedition,  the  unexampled  conquests  and  victories,  yet 
dismal  end,  of  what  is  called  the  Fourth  Crusade.  And 
that  is  the  four  great  bronze  horses — curious,  inappro- 
priate, bizarre  ornaments  that  stand  above  the  doorways 
of  San  Marco.  This  was  the  blind  doge's  lasting  piece 
of  spoil. 

The  four  doges  of  the  Dandolo  family  who  appear  at 
intervals  in  the  list  of  princes  of  the  republic  are  too  far 


THE   DOGES.  71 

apart  to  be  followed  here.  Francesco  Dandolo,  1328-39, 
the  third  of  the  name,  was  called  Cane,  according  to  tra- 
dition, because  when  ambassador  to  Pope  Clement  V., 
this  noble  Venetian,  for  the  love  of  Venice,  humbled 
himself,  and  with  a  chain  round  his  neck  and  on  his  knees, 
approached  the  Pontiff,  imploring  that  the  interdict  might 
be  raised  and  Venice  delivered  from  the  pains  of  excom- 
munication. If  this  had  been  to  show  that  men  of  his 
race  thought  nothing  too  much  for  the  service  of  their 
city,  whether  it  were  pride  or  humility,  defiance  or  sub- 
mission, the  circle  which  included  blind  Enrico  and 
Francesco  the  Dog  could  scarcely  be  more  complete. 
The  last  of  the  Dandolo  doges  was  Andrea,  1342-54, 
a  man  of  letters  as  well  as  of  practical  genius,  and  the 
historian  of  his  predecessors  and  of  the  city;  whom  at  a 
later  period  and  in  gentler  company  we  shall  find  again. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PIETRO   GRADENIGO:    CHANGE   OF    THE   CONSTITUTION. 

WE  have  endeavored  up  to  this  time  to  trace  the 
development  of  the  Venetian  government  and  territory, 
not  continuously,  but  from  point  to  point,  according  to 
the  great  conquests  which  increased  the  latter,  and  the 
growth  of  system  and  political  order  in  the  former,  which 
became  necessary  as  the  community  increased  and  the 
primitive  rule  was  outgrown.  But  at  the  end  of  the 
thirteenth  century  a  great  revolution  took  place  in  the 
republic  which  had  risen  to  such  prosperity,  and  had 
extended  its  enterprises  to  every  quarter  of  the  known 
world.  It  was  under  the  Doge  Gradenigo,  a  new  type 
among  the  rulers  of  the  state,  neither  a  soldier  nor  a 
conqueror  but  a  politician,  that  this  change  took  place — 
a  change  antagonistic  to  the  entire  sentiment  of  the  early 
Venetian  institutions,  but  embodying  all  with  which  the 
world  is  familiar  in  the  later  forms  of  that  great  oligarchy, 
the  proudest  type  of  republic  known  to  history.  The 
election  of  Pietro  Gradenigo  was  not  a  popular  one.  It 
is  evident  that  a  new  feeling  of  class  antagonism  had 
been  gathering  during  the  last  reign,  that  of  Giovanni 
Dandolo;  and  that  both  sides  were  on  the  alert  to  seize 
an  advantage.  Whether  the  proposals  for  the  limitation 
of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  which  were  already  in  the  air, 
and  the  sensation  of  an  approaching  attack  upon  their 
rights,  were  sufficiently  clear  to  the  populace  to  stimulate 
them  to  an  attempt  to  regain  the  ancient  privilege  of 
electing  the  doge  by  acclamation:  or  whether  it  was  this 
attempt  which  drove  the  other  party  to  more  determined 
action,  it  is  impossible  to  judge.  But  at  the  death  of 
Gradenigo's  predecessor  there  was  a  rush  of  the  people 
to  the  Piazza,  with  Voci  e  parole  pungentissime  in  a  wild 
and  sudden  endeavor  to  push  off  the  yoke  of  the  regular 
(and  most  elaborate)  laws,  which  had  now  been  in  opera- 
tion for  many  generations,  and  to  reclaim  their  ancient 
custom.  The  crowd  coming  together  from  all  quarters 

72 


THE    DOGES.  73 

of  the  city  proclaimed  the  name  of  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  the 
son  or  nephew  of  a  former  doge  and  a  man  of  great 
popularity,  while  still  the  solemn  officers  of  state  were 
busy  in  arranging  the  obsequies  of  the  dead  doge  and 
preparing  the  multitudinous  ballot-boxes  for  the  election 
of  his  successor.  Had  Tiepolo  been  a  less  excellent 
citizen,  Romanin  says,  civil  war  would  almost  certainly 
have  been  the  issue,  but  he  was  "a  man  of  prudence  and 
singular  goodness,"  a  huomo  da  bene,  who,  "despising  the 
madness  of  the  crowd,"  and  to  avoid  the  discord  which 
must  have  followed,  left  the  town  secretly,  in  the  midst 
of  the  tumult,  and  took  refuge  in  his  villa  on  the  Brenta, 
the  favorite  retreat  of  Venetian  nobles.  The  people  were 
apparently  not  ripe  for  anything  greater  than  this  sudden 
and  easily  baffled  effort,  and,  when  their  favorite  stole 
away,  permitted  the  usual  wire-pullers,  the  class  which 
had  so  long  originated  and  regulated  everything,  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  new  election  in  the  usual  way. 

No  more  elaborate  machinery  than  that  employed  in 
this  solemn  transaction  could  be  imagined.  The  almost 
ludicrous  multiplicity  of  its  appeals  to  Providence  or  fate, 
developed  and  increasing  from  age  to  age,  the  continually 
repeated  drawing  of  lots,  and  double  and  triple  elections, 
seem  to  evidence  the  most  jealous  determination  to 
secure  impartiality  and  unbiased  judgment.  The  order 
of  the  proceedings  is  recorded  at  length  by  Martin  da 
Canale  in  his  chronicle,  which  is  of  undoubted  authority, 
and  repeated  by  later  writers.  The  six  counselors  (aug- 
mented from  the  two  of  the  early  reigns)  of  the  doge, 
according  to  this  historian,  called  a  meeting  of  the  Con- 
siglio  Maggiore,  having  first  provided  a  number  of  balls 
of  wax,  the  same  number  as  the  members  of  the  council, 
in  thirty  of  which  was  inclosed  a  little  label  of  parchment 
inscribed  with  the  word  LECTOR.  The  thirty  who  drew 
these  balls  were  separated  from  the  assembly  in  another 
chamber  of  the  palace,  first  being  made  to  swear  to  per- 
form their  office  justly  and  impartially.  There  were  then 
produced  thirty  more  waxen  balls,  in  nine  of  which  was 
the  same  inscription.  The  chosen,  who  were  thus  re- 
duced to  nine,  the  number  of  completeness,  varied  the 
process  by  electing  forty  citizens,  whether  members  or 
not  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  being  left  to  their  discre- 
tion. Each  of  these,  however,  required  to  secure  the 


74  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

suffrages  of  seven  electors.  The  reader  will  hope  that 
by  this  time  at  last  he  has  come  to  the  electors  of  the 
doge;  but  not  so.  The  forty  thus  chosen  were  sent  for 
from  their  houses  by  the  six  original  counselors,  who 
had  the  management  of  the  election;  and  forty  waxen 
pellets  with  the  mystic  word  LECTOR,  this  time  inclosed 
in  twelve  of  them,  were  again  provided.  These  were  put 
into  a  hat,  and,  apparently  for  the  first  time,  a  child  of 
eleven  was  called  in  to  act  as  the  instrument  of  fate. 
Another  writer  describes  how  one  of  the  permanent  coun- 
selors, going  out  at  this  point,  probably  in  the  interval 
while  the  forty  new  electors  were  being  sent  for  from 
their  houses,  heard  Mass  in  San  Marco,  and  taking  hold 
of  the  first  boy  he  met  on  coming  out,  led  him  into  the 
palace  to  draw  the  balls.  The  twelve  thus  drawn  were 
once  more  sworn,  and  elected  twenty-five,  each  of  whom 
required  eight  votes  to  make  his  election  valid.  The 
twenty-five  were  reduced  once  more,  by  the  operation  of 
the  ballot,  to  nine,  who  were  taken  into  another  room 
and  again  sworn,  after  which  they  elected  forty-five,  re- 
duced by  ballot  to  eleven,  who  finally  elected  forty-one, 
who,  at  the  end  of  all  things,  elected  the  doge.  The 
childish  elaboration  of  this  mode  of  procedure  is  scarcely 
more  strange  than  the  absolute  absence  of  novelty  in  the 
result  produced.  No  plebeian  tribune  ever  stole  into 
power  by  these  means,  no  new  man,  mounted  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  people,  or  of  some  theorist  or  partisan, 
ever  surprised  the  reigning  families  with  a  new  name. 
The  elections  ran  in  the  established  lines  without  a  break 
or  misadventure.  If  any  popular  interference  disturbed 
the  serenity  and  self-importance  of  the  endless  series  of 
electors  it  was  only  to  turn  the  current  in  the  direction 
of  one  powerful  race  instead  of  another.  Even  the  popu- 
lace in  the  Piazza  proclaimed  no  Lanifizio  or  Tintorio, 
wool-worker  or  dyer,  but  a  Tiepolo,  when  they  attempted 
to  take  the  election  into  their  own  hands.  Neither  from 
without  nor  within  was  there  a  suggestion  of  any  new 
name. 

The  doge  elected  on  this  occasion  was  Pietro,  called 
Perazzo  (a  corruption  of  the  name  not  given  in  a  compli- 
mentary sense)  Gradenigo,  who  was  at  the  time  Governor 
of  Capo  d'Istria,  an  ambitious  man  of  strongly  aristo- 
cratic views,  and  no  favorite  with  the  people.  It  can 


THE    DOGES.  75 

scarcely  be  supposed  that  he  was  individually  responsible 
for  the  change  worked  by  his  agency  in  the  constitution 
of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore.  It  was  a  period  of  constitu- 
tional development  when  new  officers,  new  agencies,  an 
entire  civil  service  were  coming  into  being,  and  the  Great 
Council  had  not  only  all  the  affairs  of  the  State  passing 
through  its  hands,  but  a  large  amount  of  patronage,  in- 
creasing every  day.  Although,  as  has  been  pointed  out 
repeatedly,  the  sovereignty  of  Venice,  under  whatever 
system  carried  on,  had  always  been  in  the  hands  of  a  cer- 
tain number  of  families,  who  kept  their  place  with  almost 
dynastic  regularity,  undisturbed  by  any  intruders  from 
below — the  system  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore  was  still 
professedly  a  representative  system  of  the  widest  kind; 
and  it  would  seem  at  the  first  glance  as  if  every  honest 
man,  all  who  were  da  bene  and  respected  by  their  fellows, 
must  one  time  or  other  have  been  secure  of  gaining  ad- 
mission to  that  popular  parliament.  Romanin,  strongly 
partisan,  like  all  Venetians,  of  the  institution  under  which 
Venice  flourished,  takes  pains  to  point  out  here  and  there 
one  or  two  exceptional  names  which  show  that  at  long 
intervals  such  elections  did  happen;  but  they  were  very 
rare,  and  the  exceptional  persons  thus  elevated  never 
seem  to  have  made  themselves  notable.  However,  as 
the  city  grew  and  developed,  it  is  evident  that  the  fami- 
lies who  had  always  ruled  over  her  began  to  feel  that  the 
danger  of  having  her  courts  invaded  by  the  democracy 
was  becoming  a  real  one.  The  mode  of  electing  the 
Great  Council  was  very  informal  and  variable,  and  it  had 
recently  fallen  more  and  more  into  the  hands  of  the  in- 
triguers of  the  Broglio, — the  lobbyists,  as  the  Americans 
would  say, — which  doubtless  gave  a  pretext  for  the  rad- 
ical change  which  was  to  alter  its  character  altogether. 
Sometimes  its  members  were  chosen  by  delegates  from 
each  sestiere  or  district  of  the  city,  sometimes,  which  was 
the  original  idea,  by  four  individuals,  "two  from  this 
side  of  the  canal,  two  from  that";  sometimes  they  were 
elected  for  six  months,  sometimes  for  a  year.  The  whole 
system  was  uncertain  and  wanted  regulation.  But  this 
curious  combination  of  chances,  which  was  something  like 
putting  into  a  lottery  for  their  rulers,  pleased  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  people  in  their  primitive  state,  and  perhaps 
flattered  the  minds  of  the  masses  with  a  continual  possi- 


76  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

bility  that  upon  some  of  their  own  order  the  happy  lot 
might  fall.  It  had  been  proposed  in  the  previous  reign 
not  only  that  these  irregularities  should  be  remedied, 
which  was  highly  expedient,  but  also  that  a  certain  hered- 
itary principle  should  be  adopted,  which  was,  in  theory, 
a  new  thing  and  strange  to  the  constitution  of  Venice; 
the  suggestion  being  that  those  whose  fathers  had  sat  in 
the  council  should  have  a  right  to  election,  though  with- 
out altogether  excluding  others  whom  the  doge  or  his 
counselors  should  consider  worthy  of  being  added  to  it. 
When  Gradenigo  came  to  power  he  was  probably,  like 
a  new  prime  minister,  pledged  to  carry  out  this  policy; 
and  within  a  few  years  of  his  accession  the  experiment 
was  tried,  but  very  cautiously,  in  a  tentative  way. 
Venice  was  profoundly  occupied  at  the  time  with  one  of 
her  great  wars  with  her  rival  Genoa,  a  war  in  which  she 
had  much  the  worst,  though  certain  victories  from  time 
to  time  in  Eastern  waters  encouraged  her  to  pursue  the 
struggle;  and  it  was  under  cover  of  this  conflict,  which 
engaged  men's  thoughts,  that  the  new  experiment  was 
made.  Instead  of  the  ordinary  periodical  election  of  the 
council,  nominally  open  to  all,  the  four  chosen  electors, 
to  whom  this  duty  ordinarily  fell,  nominated  only,  in  the 
first  place,  such  members  of  the  existing  Consiglio  Mag- 
giore  as  had  in  their  own  persons  or  in  those  of  their 
fathers  sat  in  the  council  during  the  last  four  years,  who 
were  then  re-elected  by  ballot,  taken  for  each  man  in- 
dividually by  the  Forty,  a  recently  constituted  body;  to 
whom  a  further  number  of  names  from  outside  were  then 
proposed,  and  voted  for  in  the  same  way.  Thus  the 
majority  of  members  elected  was  not  only  confined  to 
those  possessing  a  hereditary  claim,  but  the  election  was 
taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  traditional  electors  and 
transferred  to  those  of  the  existing  rulers  of  the  city. 
The  new  method  was  first  tried  for  a  year,  and  then 
established  as  the  fundamental  law  of  the  republic,  with 
the  further  exclusion  of  the  one  popular  and  traditional 
element,  the  nominal  four  electors,  whose  work  was  now 
transferred  to  the  officials  of  the  state.  The  change 
thus  carried  out  was  great  in  principle,  though  perhaps 
not  much  different  in  practice  from  that  which  had  be- 
come the  use  and  wont  of  the  city.  "The  citizens," 
says  Romanin,  "  were  thus  divided  into  three  classes — 


THE    DOGES.  77 

ist,  those  who  neither  in  their  own  persons  nor  through 
their  ancestors  had  ever  formed  part  of  the  great  council; 
zd,  those  whose  progenitors  had  been  members  of  it; 
3d,  those  who  were  themselves  members  of  the  council, 
both  they  and  their  fathers.  The  first  were  called  New 
men,  and  were  never  admitted  save  by  special  grace; 
the  second  class  were  included  from  time  to  time; 
finally,  the  third  were  elected  by  full  right." 

This  was  the  law  which,  under  the  name  of  the  Serrata 
del  Consiglio  Maggiore,  caused  two  rebellions  in  Venice 
and  confirmed  forever  beyond  dispute  her  oligarchical 
government.  Her  parliament,  so  fondly  supposed  to  be 
that  of  the  people,  was  no  more  closed  to  the  New  men 
than  is  our  House  of  Lords.  Now  and  then  an  excep- 
tional individual  might  be  nominated,  and  by  means  of 
great  services,  wealth,  or  other  superior  qualities,  obtain 
admission.  It  was  indeed  the  privilege  and  reward 
henceforward  zealously  striven  for  by  the  plebeian  class, 
and,  unfortunately,  more  often  bestowed  in  recompense 
for  the  betrayal  of  political  secrets,  and  especially  of 
popular  conspiracies,  than  for  better  reasons.  But  the 
right  was  with  those  whose  fathers  had  held  the  position 
before  them,  whose  rank  was  already  secure  and  ascer- 
tained, the  nobles  and  patrician  classes.  The  hereditary 
legislator  thus  arose  in  the  bosom  of  the  state  which 
considered  itself  the  most  free  in  Christendom,  in  his 
most  marked  and  distinct  form.  Romanin  tells  us  that 
the  famous  Libro  d'Oro,  the  book  of  nobility,  was  formed 
in  order  to  keep  clear  the  descent  and  legitimacy  of  all 
claimants ;  bastards,  and  even  the  sons  of  a  wife  not  noble, 
being  rigorously  excluded.  The  law  itself  was  strength- 
ened by  successive  additions,  so  as  to  confine  the  electors 
exclusively  to  the  patrician  class. 

The  war  with  Genoa  was  still  filling  all  minds  when  this 
silent  revolution  was  accomplished.  How  could  Venice 
give  her  attention  to  what  was  going  on  in  the  gilded 
chambers  of  the  Palazzo,  when  day  by  day  the  city  was 
convulsed  by  bad  news  or  deluded  by  faint  gleams  of 
better  hope?  Once  and  again  the  Venetian  fleets  were 
defeated,  and  mournful  galleys  came  drifting  up,  six  or 
seven  out  of  a  hundred,  to  tell  the  tale  of  destruction 
and  humiliation;  and  ever  with  renewed  efforts,  in  a  rage 
of  despairing  energy,  the  workmen  toiling  in  the  arsenal, 


78  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

the  boatmen  giving  up  their  tranquil  traffic  upon  the 
lagoons  to  man  the  new  appointed  ships,  and  every 
family,  great  and  small,  offering  its  dearest  to  sustain 
the  honor  of  the  republic,  the  energies  of  the  city  were 
strained  to  the  utmost.  In  the  autumn  of  1298,  just 
when  the  Serrata  had  been  confirmed  in  the  statute-book, 
the  great  fleet,  commanded  by  Admiral  Andrea  Dandolo, 
sailed  from  the  Port,  with  all  the  aspect  of  a  squadron 
invincible,  to  punish  the  Genoese  and  end  the  war.  In 
one  of  the  ships  was  a  certain  Marco  Polo,  from  his  home 
near  San  Giovanni  Chrisostomo,  Marco  of  the  Millions,  a 
great  traveling  merchant,  whose  stories  had  been  as 
fables  in  his  countrymen's  ears.  This  great  expedition 
did  indeed  for  the  time  end  the  war;  but  not  by  victory. 
It  was  cruelly  defeated  on  the  Dalmatian  coasts  after  a 
stubborn  and  bloody  struggle.  The  admiral  Andrea 
dashed  his  head  against  his  mast  and  died  rather  than  be 
taken  to  Genoa  in  chains;  while  the  humbler  sailor  Marco 
Polo,  with  crowds  of  his  countrymen,  was  carried  off  to 
prison  there,  to  his  advantage  and  ours,  as  it  turned  out. 
But  Venice  was  plunged  into  mourning  and  woe,  her 
resources  exhausted,  her  captains  lost.  Genoa,  who  had 
bought  the  victory  dear,  was  in  little  less  unhappy  con- 
dition; and  in  the  following  year  the  rival  republics  were 
glad  to  make  peace  under  every  pledge  of  mutual  for- 
bearance and  friendship  for  as  long  as  it  could  last.  It 
was  only  after  this  conclusion  of  the  more  exciting 
interests  abroad  that  the  Venetians  at  home,  recovering 
tranquillity,  began  to  look  within  and  see  in  the  mean- 
time what  the  unpopular  doge  and  his  myrmidons,  while 
nobody  had  been  looking,  had  been  engaged  about. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  the  mass  of  the  people  thought 
of  the  new  position  of  affairs;  for  all  the  chroniclers  are 
on  the  winning  side,  and  even  the  careful  Romanin  has 
little  sympathy  with  the  revolutionaries.  The  Venetian 
populace  had  long  been  pleasantly  deceived  as  to  their 
own  power.  They  had  been  asked  to  approve  what  their 
masters  had  decided  upon  and  made  to  believe  it  was 
their  own  doing.  They  had  given  a  picturesque  and 
impressive  background  as  of  a  unanimous  people  to  the 
decisions  of  the  doge  and  his  counselors,  the  sight  of 
their  immense  assembly  making  the  noble  French  envoys 
weep  like  women.  But  whether  they  had  begun  to  see 


THE    DOGES.  79 

through  those  fine  pretenses  of  consulting  them,  and  to 
perceive  how  little  they  had  really  to  do  with  it  all,  no 
one  tells  us.  Their  attempt  to  elect  their  own  doger 
without  waiting  for  the  authorities,  looks  as  if  they  had 
become  suspicious  of  their  masters.  And  at  the  same 
time  the  arbitrary  closing  of  the  avenues  of  power  to  all 
men  whose  fortune  was  not  made  or  their  position  secure, 
and  the  establishment  in  the  council  of  that  hereditary 
principle  so  strenuously  opposed  in  the  election  of  the 
doges,  were  sufficiently  distinct  changes  to  catch  the 
popular  eye  and  disturb  the  imagination.  Accordingly, 
when  the  smoke  of  war  cleared  off  and  the  people  came 
to  consider  internal  politics,  discontent  and  excitement 
arose.  This  found  vent  in  a  sudden  and  evidently  natural 
outburst  of  popular  feeling.  The  leader  of  the  malcon- 
tents was  "a  certain  Marino  whose  surname  was  Boc- 
conio,"  says  Sabellico,  "  a  man  who  was  not  noble,  nor 
of  the  baser  sort,  but  of  moderate  fortune,  bold  and  ready 
for  any  evil,"  precisely  of  that  class  of  new  men  to  whom 
political  privileges  are  most  dear,  one  on  the  verge  of  a 
higher  position,  and  doubtless  hoping  to  push  his  way 
into  parliament  and  secure  for  his  sons  an  entry  into  the 
class  of  patricians.  "He  was  much  followed  for  his. 
wealth,"  says  another  writer.  Sanudo  gives  an  account 
of  Bocconio's  (or  Bocco's)  rebellion,  which  the  too  well 
informed  Romanin  summarily  dismisses  as  a  fable,  but 
which  as  an  expression  of  popular  feeling,  and  the  aspect 
which  the  new  state  of  affairs  bore  to  the  masses,  has  a 
certain  value.  The  matter-of-fact  legend  of  shutting  out 
and  casting  forth  embodies  in  the  most  forcible  way  the 
sense  of  an  exclusion  which  was  more  complete  than 
could  be  effected  by  the  closing  of  any  palace  doors. 
Bocconio  and  his  friends,  according  to  Sanudo,  indignant 
and  enraged  to  be  shut  out  from  the  council,  crowded 
into  the  Piazza,  with  many  followers,  at  the  time  when 
they  supposed  the  elections  to  be  going  on,  and  found  the 
gates  closed  and  the  Gentilhuomini  assembled  within. 

Then  beating  at  the  door  they  called  out  that  they  desired  to  form 
part  of  the  council,  and  would  not  be  excluded  ;  upon  which  the  doge 
sent  messengers  to  tell  them  that  the  council  was  not  engaged  upon  the 
election,  but  was  discussing  other  business.  As  they  continued,  how- 
ever, to  insist  upon  coming  in,  the  doge,  seeing  that  he  made  no  advance 
but  that  the  tumult  kept  increasing  in  the  Piazza,  deliberated  with  the 


So  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

council  how  to  entrap  these  seditious  persons,  to  call  forth  against  them 
ultimum  de  potentia,  the  severest  penalty  of  the  law.  Accordingly  he 
sent  to  tell  them  that  they  should  be  called  in  separately  in  parties  of 
five,  and  that  those  who  succeeded  in  the  ballot  should  remain  as  mem- 
bers of  the  council,  on  condition  that  those  who  failed  should  disperse 
and  go  away.  The  first  called  were  Marino  Bocco,  Jacopo  Boldo,  and 
three  others.  The  doors  were  then  closed  and  a  good  guard  set,  after 
which  the  five  were  stripped  and  thrown  into  a  pit,  the  Trabucco  della 
Toresella,  and  so  killed;  and  the  others  being  called  in,  in  succession, 
And  treated  in  the  same  way,  the  chief  men  and  ringleaders  were  thus 
•disposed  of  to  the  number  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  or  sixty  men.  The 
crowd  remaining  in  the  Piazza  persuaded  themselves  that  all  those  who 
were  called  in,  of  whom  none  came  back,  had  been  made  nobles  of  the 
Great  Council.  And  when  it  was  late  in  the  evening  the  members  of 
the  council  came  down  armed  into  the  Piazza,  and  a  proclamation  was 
made  by  order  of  the  doge  that  all  should  return  to  their  homes  on  pain 
of  punishment ;  hearing  which  the  crowd,  struck  with  terror,  had  the 
grace  to  disperse  in  silence.  Then  the  corpses  of  those  who  were  dead 
were  brought  out  and  laid  in  the  Piazza,  with  the  command  that  if  any- 
one touched  them  it  should  be  at  the  risk  of  his  head.  And  when  it  was 
seen  that  no  one  was  bold  enough  to  approach,  the  rulers  perceived  that 
the  people  were  obedient.  And  some  days  after,  as  they  could  not 
tolerate  the  stench,  the  bodies  were  buried.  And  in  this  manner  ended 
that  sedition,  so  that  no  one  afterward  ventured  to  open  his  mouth  on 
such  matters. 

This  legend  Sanudo  takes,  as  he  tells  us,  from  the 
chronicles  of  a  certain  Zaccariada  Pozzo;  and  it  does  not 
interfere  with  his  faith  in  the  narrative  that  he  himself 
has  recorded  on  a  previous  page  the  execution  of  Bocco 
and  his  fellow  conspirators  "between  the  columns"  in 
the  usual  way.  Perhaps  he  too  felt  that  this  wild  yet 
matter-of-fact  version  of  the  incident,  the  closed  doors 
and  the  mysterious  slaughter  of  the  intruders  in  the  hid- 
den courts  within,  was  an  effective  and  natural  way  of 
representing  the  action  of  a  constitutional  change  so 
important.  The  names  of  the  conspirators  who  died 
with  Bocconio  are  almost  all  unknown  and  obscure  names, 
yet  there  was  a  sprinkling  of  patricians,  upholders  of  the 
popular  party,  such  as  are  always  to  be  found  on  similar 
occasions,  and  which  reappear  in  the  more  formidable 
insurrection  that  followed.  For  the  moment,  however, 
the  summary  extinction  of  Bocconio's  ill-planned  rebellion 
intimidated  and  silenced  the  people,  while,  on  the  other 
side,  it  was  made  an  occasion  of  tightening  the  bonds  of 
the  Serrata,  and  making  the  admission  of  the  homo  novus 
more  difficult  than  ever. 

This  little  rebellion,  so  soon  brought  to  a  conclusion, 


THE   DOGES.  8l 

took  place  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1300,  the  year  of  the 
jubilee,  when  all  the  world  was  crowding  to  Rome,  and 
Dante,  standing  on  the  bridge  of  St.  Angelo,  watching 
the  streams  of  the  pilgrims  coming  and  going,  bethought 
himself,  like  a  true  penitent,  of  his  own  moral  condition, 
and  in  the  musings  of  his  supreme  imagination  found 
himself  astray  in  evil  paths,  and  began  to  seek  through 
hell  and  heaven  the  vcrace  via,  the  right  way  which  he 
had  lost.  This  great  scene  of  religious  fervor,  in  which 
so  many  penitents  from  all  quarters  of  the  world  renewed 
the  vows  of  their  youth  and  pledged  over  again  their 
devotion  to  the  Church  and  the  Faith,  comes  strangely 
into  the  midst  of  the  fierce  strife  between  Guelf  and 
Ghibelline,  which  then  rent  asunder  the  troubled  Conti- 
nent, and  especially  Italy,  where  every  city  took  part  in 
the  struggle.  Venice,  in  the  earlier  ages  as  well  as  in 
later  times  when  she  maintained  her  independence 
against  papal  interference,  has  usually  shown  much 
indifference  to  the  authority  of  the  Pope.  But  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century  this  was  impossible, 
especially  when  the  great  Republic  of  the  Sea  meddled, 
as  she  had  no  right  to  do,  with  the  internal  policy  of  that 
Terra  Firma,  the  fat  land  of  corn  and  vine,  after  which 
she  had  always  a  longing.  And  there  now  fell  upon  her, 
in  the  midst  of  all  other  contentions,  the  most  terrible  of 
all  the  catastrophes  to  which  mediaeval  States  were  sub- 
ject, the  curse  of  Rome.  It  was,  no  doubt,  rather  with 
that  keen  eye  to  her  own  advantage  which  never  failed 
her,  than  from  any  distinct  bias  toward  the  side  of  the 
Ghibelline,  that  Venice  had  interposed  in  the  question  of 
succession  which  agitated  the  city  of  Ferrara,  and  finally 
made  an  attempt  to  establish  her  own  authority  in  that 
distracted  place.  Indeed  it  seems  little  more  than  an 
accidental  appeal  on  the  part  of  the  other  faction  to  the 
protection  of  the  Pope  which  brought  upon  her  the  ter- 
rible punishment  of  the  excommunication  which  Pope 
Clement  launched  from  Avignon,  and  which  ruined  her 
trade,  reduced  her  wealth,  put  all  her  wandering  mer- 
chants and  sailors  in  danger  of  their  lives,  and  almost 
threatened  with  complete  destruction  the  proud  city 
which  had  held  her  head  so  high.  It  would  have  been 
entirely  contrary  to  the  habits  of  Venice,  as  of  every 
other  republican  community,  not  to  have  visited  this 


82  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

great  calamity  more  or  less  upon  the  head  of  the  state. 
And  it  gave  occasion  to  the  hostile  families  who  from  the 
time  of  Gradenigo's  accession  had  been  seeking  an 
opportunity  against  him — the  house  of  Tiepolo  and  its 
allies,  the  Quirini,  who  had  opposed  the  war  of  Ferrara  all 
through  and  had  suffered  severely  in  it,  and  others,  in 
one  way  or  another  adverse  to  the  existing  Government. 
The  Tiepoli  do  not  seem  to  have  been  generally  of  the 
mild  and  noble  character  of  him  who  had  refused  to  be 
elected  doge  by  the  clamor  of  the  Piazza.  They  had 
formed  all  through  a  bitter  opposition  party  to  the  doge 
who  had  displaced  their  kinsman.  Perhaps  even  Jacopo 
Tiepolo,  himself,  while  retiring  from  the  strife  to  save 
the  peace  of  the  republic,  had  a  natural  expectation 
that  the  acclamation  of  the  populace  would  be  confirmed 
by  the  votes  of  the  electors.  At  all  events  his  family 
had  throughout  maintained  a  constitutional  feud,  keep- 
ing a  keen  eye  upon  all  proceedings  of  the  Government, 
and  eager  to  find  a  sufficient  cause  for  interference 
more  practical. 

It  would  seem  a  proof  that  the  popular  mind  had  not 
fully  awakened  to  the  consequences  of  the  change  of  laws 
at  the  moment  of  Bocconio's  insurrection  that  the  patrician 
opposition  did  not  seize  that  opportunity.  The  occasion 
they  sought  came  later,  when  the  disastrous  war  and  the 
horrors  of  the  interdict,  events  more  immediately  per- 
ceptible than  any  change  of  constitution,  had  excited  all 
minds  and  opened  the  eyes  of  the  people  to  their  internal 
wrongs  by  the  light  of  those  tremendous  misfortunes  which 
the  ambition  or  the  unskillfulness  of  their  doge  and  his 
advisers  had  brought  upon  them.  The  rebellious  faction 
took  advantage  of  all  possible  means  to  fan  the  flame  of  dis- 
content; stimulating  the  stormy  debates  of  the  Consiglio 
Maggiore,  which  was  not  more  but  less  easy  to  manage 
since  it  had  been  restricted  to  the  gentry,  while  at  the  same 
time  stirring  up  the  people  to  a  sense  of  the  profound  injury 
of  exclusion  from  its  ranks.  The  Quirini,  the  Badoeri, 
and  various  others,  connected  by  blood  and  friendship 
with  the  Tiepoli,  among  whom  were  hosts  of  young  gal- 
lants always  ready  for  a  brawl,  and  ready  to  follow  any 
warlike  lead,  to  quicken  the  action  of  their  seniors, 
increased  the  tension  on  all  sides.  How  the  excitement 
grew  in  force  and  passion  day  by  day;  how  one  incident 


8a  •.  ICE. 

.  s'.ss  upon  the  I  he  state. 

;o  the  hostile  families  who  from  the 
.  )'s   accession    had    been    seeking    an 
jst  him—the  house  of  Tiepolo  and  its 
rmi,  who  hat!  opposed  the  war  of  Ferraraall 
.nd  had   suffered  severely  in  it,  and  others,  in 
or  another  adverse  to  the  existing  Government, 
i'iepoli  do  not  seem  to  have  been  generally  of  the 
\nd  noble  character  of  him  who  had  refused  to  be 
•d  doge  by. the  clamor  of  the   Piazza.     They  had 
formed  all  through  a  bitter  opposit  "  to  the  doge 

who  had  displaced  their  kinsman.     1'i-rh.ips  ev?n  Jacopo 
Tiepolo,  himself,  whii<  ••£  from  .    to  save 

the   peace   of  the   n-  -ad   a   na  i  \tion 

that  the  acclan  ulace  would  be  confirmed 

by  the  votes  of  t>.  At  all  events  his  family 

had  througho  itional  feud,  keep- 

ing a  keen  eyt  '  the  Government, 

and   eager  to   fin  :-,t   cause    for  interference 

BRIDGE  OF  THE  RIALTO 
It  would  sec.  mind  had  not 

fully  awakened  to  t 
at  the  moment  of  Boer- 
;>n  did  not  sei 
i  ht  came  lat<  • 
the  interdict. 
;.n  any  change 

the  eyes  o- 
.t  of  those  ti 
'.he  unskillful: 

!.-!^ht  upon  them.  action 

ill  possible  means  t  .meofdis- 

.!ig  the  stormy  dt-L  Consiglio 

was  not  more  bu:  ssy  to  manage 

:-stricted  to  the  gentry,  while  at  the  same 

ie  people  to  a  sense  of  the  profound  injury 

it*,  ranks      The  Quirini,  the  Badoeri, 

)nnec-.ed  by  blood  and  friendship 

with  ag  whom  were  hosts  of  young  gal- 

lants alw  brawl,  and  ready  to  follow  any 

warlike   h  the  action    of  their   set 

increased'  ides.     How  the  ex 

grew  in  force  .  by  day ;  how  one 


THE    DOGES.  83 

after  another  raised  the  growing  wrath ;  how  scuffles  arose 
in  the  city  and  troubles  multiplied,  it  is  not  difficult  to 
imagine.  On  one  occasion  a  Dandolo  took  the  wall  of  a 
Tiepolo  and  a  fight  ensued;  on  another,  "the  devil,  who 
desires  the  destruction  of  all  government,"  put  it  into  the 
head  of  Marco  Morosini,  one  of  the  Signori  di  Notte  (or 
night  magistrates),  to  inquire  whether  Pietro  Quirini  of 
the  elder  branch  (della  Ca'  Grande)  was  armed,  and  to 
order  him  to  be  searched;  on  which  Quirini,  enraged, 
tripped  up  the  said  Morosini  with  his  foot,  and  all  the 
Rialto  was  forthwith  in  an  uproar.  The  houses  of  the 
chiefs  of  the  party,  both  Tiepoli  and  Quirini,  were  in 
the  quarter  of  the  Rialto,  and  close  to  the  bridge. 

At  length  the  gathering  fire  burst  into  flame.  No 
doubt  driven  beyond  patience  by  some  incident,  trifling 
in  itself,  Marco  Quirini,  one  of  the  heads  of  his  house,  a 
man  who  had  suffered  much  in  the  war  with  Ferrara, 
called  his  friends  and  neighbors  round  him  in  his  palace, 
and  addressed  the  assembled  party;  attacking  the  doge 
as  the  cause  of  all  the  troubles  of  the  country,  the  chief 
instrument  in  changing  the  constitution,  in  closing  the 
Great  Council  to  the  people,  in  carrying  on  the  fatal  war 
with  Ferrara,  and  bringing  down  upon  the  city  the 
horrors  of  the  excommunication.  To  raise  a  party  against 
the  doge  for  private  reasons,  however  valid,  would  not 
be,  he  said,  the  part  of  a  good  citizen.  But  how  could 
they  stand  cold  spectators  of  the  ruin  of  their  beloved 
and  injured  country,  or  shut  their  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
the  evil  passions  of  one  man  were  the  chief  cause  of  their 
misery,  and  that  it  was  he  who  had  not  only  brought 
disaster  from  without,  but,  by  the  closing  of  the  council, 
shut  out  from  public  affairs  so  many  of  the  worthiest 
citizens?  He  was  followed  by  a  younger  and  still  more 
ardent  speaker  in  the  person  of  Bajamonte  Tiepolo,  the 
son  of  Jacopo,  with  whose  name  henceforward  this 
historical  incident  is  chiefly  connected,  at  that  time  one 
of  the  most  prominent  figures  in  Venice,  the  Gran  Cava- 
liero  of  the  people,  who  loved  him,  and  among  whom  he 
had  inherited  his  father's  popularity.  "Let  us  leave 
words  and  take  to  action,"  he  said,  "nor  pause  till  we 
have  placed  on  the  throne  a  good  prince,  who  will  restore 
the  ancient  laws,  and  preserve  and  increase  the  public 
freedom."  The  struggle  was  probably  in  its  essence 


84  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

much  more  a  family  feud  than  a  popular  outbreak,  but  it 
is  a  sign  of  the  excitement  of  the  time  that  the  wrongs  of 
the  people  were  at  every  turn  appealed  to  as  the  one 
unquestionable  argument. 

Never  had  there  been  a  more  apt  moment  for  a  popular 
rising.  "In  the  first  place,"  says  Caroldo,  "the  city 
was  very  ill  content  with  the  illustrious  Pietro  Gradenigo, 
who  in  the  beginning  of  his  reign  had  the  boldness  to 
reform  the  Consiglio  Maggiore ;  admitting  a  larger  number 
of  families  who  were  noble,  and  few  of  those  who  ought 
to  have  been  the  principal  and  most  respected  of  the  city, 
taking  from  the  citizens  and  populace  the  ancient  mode 
of  admission  into  the  council;  the  root  of  this  change 
being  the  hatred  he  bore  to  the  people,  who,  before  his 
election,  had  proclaimed  Jacopo  Tiepolo  doge,  and 
afterward  had  shown  little  satisfaction  with  the  choice 
made  of  himself.  And  not  only  did  he  bear  rancor 
against  Jacopo  Tiepolo,  but  against  the  whole  of  his 
family." 

Notwithstanding  this  rancor  Jacopo  Tiepolo  himself, 
the  good  citizen,  was  the  only  one  who  now  raised  his 
voice  for  peace  and  endeavored  to  calm  the  excitement 
of  his  family  and  their  adherents.  But  the  voice  of 
reason  was  not  listened  to.  On  the  night  of  the  i4th  of 
June,  1310,  ten  years  after  Bocconio's  brief  and  ill-fated 
struggle,  the  fires  of  insurrection  were  again  lighted  up 
in  Venice.  The  conspirators  gathered  during  the  night 
in  the  Quirini  Palace,  meeting  under  cover  of  the  dark- 
ness in  order  to  burst  forth  with  the  early  dawn,  and 
with  an  impeto,  a  sudden  rush  from  the  Rialto  to  the 
Piazza,  to  gain  possession  of  the  center  of  the  city  and 
seize  and  kill  the  doge.  The  night,  however,  was  not 
one  of  those  lovely  nights  of  June  which  make  Venice  a 
paradise.  It  was  a  fit  night  for  such  a  bloody  and  fatal 
undertaking  as  that  on  which  these  muffled  conspirators 
were  bound.  A  great  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning, 
such  as  has  nowhere  more  magnificent  force  than  on  the 
lagoons,  burst  forth  while  their  bands  were  assembling, 
and  torrents  of  rain  poured  from  the  gloomy  skies.  It 
was  in  the  midst  of  this  tempest,  which  favored  while  it 
cowed  them,  the  peals  of  the  thunder  making  their  cries 
of  *'  Death  to  the  doge!  "  and  "  Freedom  to  the  people!  " 
inaudible,  and  muffling  the  tramp  of  their  feet,  that  the 


THE   DOGES.  85 

insurrectionists  set  forth.  One  half  of  the  little  army, 
under  Marco  Quirini,  kept  the  nearer  way  along  the  canal 
by  bridge  and  fondamenta;  the  other,  led  by  Bajamonte 
himself,  threaded  their  course  by  the  narrow  streets  of 
the  Merceria  to  the  same  central  point.  The  sounds  of 
the  march  were  lost  in  the  commotion  of  nature,  and  the 
dawn  for  which  they  waited  was  blurred  in  the  stormy 
tumult  of  the  elements.  The  dark  line  of  the  rebels 
pushed  on,  however,  spite  of  storm  and  rain;  secure,  it 
would  seem,  that  their  secret  had  been  kept  and  that 
their  way  was  clear  before  them. 

But  in  the  meantime  the  doge,  who,  whatever  were  his 
faults,  seems  to  have  been  a  man  of  energy  and  spirit, 
had  heard,  as  the  authorities  always  heard,  of  the  in- 
tended rising;  and  taking  his  measures  as  swiftly  and 
silently  as  if  he  had  been  the  conspirator,  called  together 
all  the  officers  of  state,  with  their  retainers  and  servants, 
and  sending  off  messengers  to  Chioggia,  Torcello,  and 
Murano  for  succor,  ranged  his  little  forces  in  the  Piazza. 
under  the  flashing  of  the  lightning  and  the  pouring  of 
the  rain,  and  silently  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  rebels. 
A  more  dramatic  scene  could  not  be  conceived.  The 
two  lines  of  armed  men  stumbling  on  in  the  darkness, 
waiting  for  a  flash  to  show  them  the  steps  of  a  bridge  or 
the  sharp  corner  of  a  narrow  calle,  pressed  on  in  mutual 
emulation,  their  hearts  hot  for  the  attack,  and  all  the 
points  of  the  assault  decided  upon.  Whenlo!  as  the  first 
detachment,  that  led  by  Quirini,  debouched  into  the 
great  square,  a  sudden  wild  flash,  lighting  up  earth  and 
heaven,  showed  them  the  gleaming  swords  and  dark  files 
of  the  defenders  of  San  Marco  awaiting  their  arrival.  The 
surprise  would  seem  to  have  been  complete;  but  it  was 
not  the  doge  who  was  surprised.  This  unexpected  revela- 
tion precipitated  the  fight,  which  very  shortly,  the  leaders 
being  killed  in  the  first  rush,  turned  into  a  rout.  Baja- 
monte appearing  with  his  men  by  the  side  of  the  Merceria 
made  a  better  stand,  but  the  advantage  remained  with 
the  doge's  party,  who  knew  what  they  had  to  expect,  and 
had  the  superior  confidence  of  law  and  authority  on  their 
side. 

By  this  time  the  noise  of  the  human  tumult  surmounted 
that  of  the  skies,  and  the  peaceful  citizens  who  had  slept 
through  'the  storm  woke  to  the  sound  of  the  cries  and 


86  THE   MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

curses,  the  clash  of  swords  and  armor,  and  rushed  to 
their  windows  to  see  what  the  disturbance  was.  One 
woman,  looking  out,  in  the  mad  passion  of  terror  seized 
the  first  thing  that  came  to  hand,  a  stone  vase  or  mortar 
on  her  window-sill,  and  flung  it  down  at  hazard  into  the 
midst  of  the  tumult.  This  trifling  incident  would  seem 
to  have  been  the  turning-point  of  the  struggle.  The  heavy 
flower-pot  or  mortar  descended  upon  the  head  of  the  stand- 
ard-bearer who  carried  Bajamonte's  flag  with  its  inscription 
of  LIBERTA,  and  struck  him  to  the  ground.  When  the 
rebels,  in  the  gray  of  the  stormy  dawn,  saw  their  banner 
waver  and  fall,  a  panic  seized  them.  They  thought  it 
was  taken  by  the  enemy,  and  even  the  leader  himself, 
the  Gran  Cavaliero,  turned  with  the  panic-stricken  crowd 
and  fled.  Pursued  and  flying,  fighting,  making  here  and 
there  a  stand,  they  hurried  through  the  tortuous  ways  to 
the  Rialto,  which,  being  then  no  more  than  a  bridge  of 
wood,  they  cut  down  behind  them,  taking  refuge  on  the 
other  side,  where  their  headquarters  were,  in  the  palace 
of  the  Quirini,  the  remains  of  which,  turned  to  ignoble 
use  as  a  poulterer's  shop,  still  exist  in  the  Beccaria.  The 
other  half  of  the  insurrectionists,  that  which  had  been 
thrown  into  confusion  and  flight  by  the  death  of  its  leader 
Marco  Quirini,  met  on  its  disastrous  backward  course  a 
band  hastily  collected  by  the  head  of  the  Scuola  della 
Carita,  and  increased  by  a  number  of  painters  living 
about  that  center  of  their  art — in  the  Campo  San  Luca, 
where  the  rebels  were  cut  to  pieces. 

Bajamonte  and  his  men,  however,  arrived  safely  at 
their  stronghold,  having  on  their  way  sacked  and  burned 
the  office  of  the  customs  on  that  side  of  the  river,  thus 
covering  their  retreat  with  smoke  and  flame.  Once  there 
they  closed  their  gates,  intrenching  their  broken  strength 
in  the  great  mediaeval  house  which  was  of  itself  a  fortress 
and  defensible  place.  And  after  all  that  had  happened 
the  fate  of  Venice  still  hung  in  the  balance,  and  such  was 
the  gravity  of  the  revolt  that  it  still  seemed  possible  for 
the  knot  of  desperate  men  intrenched  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Rive  Alto,  the  deep  stream  which  sweeps 
profound  and  strong  round  that  curve  of  the  bank,  to 
gain — did  Badoer  come  back  in  time  with  the  aid  he  had 
been  sent  to  seek  in  Padua — the  upper  hand.  Even  when 
Badoer  was  cut  off  by  Giustinian  and  his  men  from 


THE    DOGES.  87 

Chioggia,  the  doge  and  his  party,  though  strong  and 
confident,  do  not  seem  to  have  ventured  to  attack  the 
headquarters  of  the  rebels.  On  the  contrary,  envoys 
were  sent  to  offer  an  amnesty,  and  even  pardon,  should 
they  submit.  Three  times  these  envoys  were  rowed 
across  the  canal,  the  ruined  bridge  lying  black  before 
their  eyes,  fretting  the  glittering  waves,  which,  no 
doubt,  by  this  time  leaped  and  dashed  against  the 
unaccustomed  obstacle  in  all  the  brightness  of  June,  the 
thunderstorm  over,  though  not  the  greater  tempest  of 
human  passion.  From  the  other  bank,  over  the  charred 
ruins  of  the  houses  they  had  destroyed,  the  rebel  Vene- 
tians, looking  out  in  their  rage,  disappointment,  and 
despair,  to  see  embassy  after  embassy  conducted  to  the 
edge  of  the  ferry,  must  have  felt  still  a  certain  fierce 
satisfaction  in  their  importance,  and  in  the  alarm  to 
which  these  successive  messengers  testified.  At  last, 
however,  there  came  alone  a  venerable  counselor,  Filippo 
Belegno,  "moved  by  love  of  his  country  "to  attempt 
once  more  the  impossible  task  of  moving  these  obstinate 
and  desperate  men.  No  doubt  he  put  before  them  the 
agitated  state  of  the  city,  the  strange  sight  it  was  with 
the  ruins  still  smoking,  the  streets  still  full  of  the 
wounded  and  dying;  torn  in  two,  the  peaceful  bridge 
lying  a  great  wreck  in  mid-stream.  "And  such  was  his 
venerable  aspect  and  the  force  of  his  eloquence  "  that  he 
won  the  rebels  at  last  to  submission.  Bajamonte  and  his 
immediate  followers  were  banished  for  life  from  Venice 
and  its  vicinity  to  the  distant  lands  of  Slavonia  beyond 
Zara;  others  less  prominent  were  allowed  to  hope  that  in 
a  few  years  they  might  be  recalled;  and  the  least  guilty, 
on  making  compensation  for  what  they  had  helped  to 
destroy,  were  pardoned.  Thus  ended  the  most  serious 
revolt  that  had  ever  happened  in  Venice.  One  cannot 
help  feeling  that  it  was  hard  upon  Badoer  and  several 
others  who  were  taken  fighting  to  be  beheaded,  while 
Bajamonte  was  thus  able  to  make  terms  for  himself  and 
escape,  with  his  head  at  least. 

The  lives  thus  spared,  however,  were  but  little  to  be 
envied.  The  banishment  to  the  East  was  a  penalty 
which  the  republic  could  not  enforce.  She  could  put  the 
rebels  forth  from  her  territory,  but  even  her  power  was 
unable  in  those  wild  days  to  secure  a  certain  place  of 


88  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

banishment  for  the  exiles.  Those  who  are  familiar  with 
the  life  of  Dante  will  remember  what  was  the  existence 
of  a  fuor-uscilo  banished  from  the  beloved  walls  of 
Florence.  Bajamonte  Tiepolo  was  a  personage  of 
greater  social  importance  than  Dante,  with  friends  and 
allies  no  doubt  in  all  the  neighboring  cities,  as  it  was 
natural  a  man  should  have  who  belonged  to  one  of  the 
greatest  Venetian  families.  The  records  of  the  state  are 
full  of  signs  and  tokens  of  his  passage  through  the  Italian 
mainland  and  his  long  wanderings  afterward  on  the 
Dalmatian  coasts.  He  was  scarcely  well  got  rid  of  out 
of  Venice  before  the  doge  is  visible  in  the  records  mak- 
ing a  great  speech  in  the  council,  in  which  he  gives  a 
lively  picture  of  the  state  of  affairs  and  of  the  contumacy 

.  of  Bajamonte  and  his  companious,  their  visits  to  Padua 
and  Rovigo,  their  parleys  with  the  turbulent  spirits  of  the 
Marshes,  and  even  of  Lombardy — their  perpetual  attempts 
to  raise  again  the  standard  of  revolt  in  Venice.  It  may  be 
supposed  even  that  the  doge  died  of  this  revolt  and  its- 
consequences,  in  the  passion  and  endless  harassment  con- 
sequent upon  the  constant  machinations  of  his  opponent, 
whom  indeed  he  had  got  the  better  of,  but  who  would 
not  yield. 

Romance  has  scarcely  taken  hold,  except  in  obscure 
attempts,  upon  the  juxtaposition  of  these  two  men;  but 
nothing  seems  more  likely  than  that  some  profounder 
personal  tragedy  lay  at  the  bottom  of  this  historical 
episode.  At  all  events  the  characters  of  the  two  oppo- 
nents, the  doge  and  the  rebel,  are  strongly  contrasted, 
and  fit  for  all  the  uses  of  tragedy.  Had  Venice  possessed 
a  Dante,  or  had  Bajamonte  been  gifted  with  a  poet's 
utterance,  who  can  tell  in  what  dark  cave  of  the  Inferno 
the  reader  of  these  distant  ages  might  not  have  found  the 

,  dark,  unfriendly  doge,  sternly  determined  to  carry  through 
his  plans,  to  shut  out  contemptuously  from  his  patrician 
circle  every  low-born  aspirant,  and  to  betray  the  beloved 
city,  whose  boast  had  always  been  of  freedom,  into  the 
tremendous  fetters  of  a  system  more  terrible  than  any 
despotism?  Gradenigo,  so  far  as  he  can  be  identified 
personally,  would  seem  to  have  been  an  excellent  type 
of  the  haughty  aristocrat,  scornful  of  the  new  men  who 
formed  the  rising  tide  of  Venetian  life,  and  determined 
to  keep  in  the  place  in  which  they  were  born  the  inferior 


THE   DOGES.  89 

populace.  He  had  been  employed  in  distant  depend- 
encies of  the  republic  where  a  state  of  revolt  was  chronic, 
and  where  the  most  heroic  measures  were  necessary;  and 
it  was  clear  to  him  that  there  must  be  no  hesitation,  no 
trifling  with  the  forces  below.  When  he  became  doge 
Venice  was  still  to  some  extent  governed  by  her  old 
traditions,  and  it  was  yet  possible  that  the  democracy 
might  have  largely  invaded  her  sacred  ranks  of  patrician 
power.  She  was  ruled  by  an  intricate  and  shifting 
magistracy  of  councils,  sages,  pregadi  (the  simplest 
primitive  title,  men  "prayed"  to  come  and  help  the 
doge  with  their  advice),  among  whom  it  is  difficult  to 
tell  which  was  which,  or  how  many  there  were,  or  how 
long  any  one  man  held  his  share  of  power.  But  when 
Perazzo,  Proud  Peter,  the  man  whom  the  commons  did 
not  love,  of  whom,  no  doubt,  they  had  many  a  story  to 
tell,  ended  his  reign  in  Venice,  the  Great  Council  had 
become  hereditary,  the  old  possibilities  were  all  ended, 
and  the  Council  of  Ten  sat  supreme — an  institution 
altogether  new,  and  as  terrible  as  unknown — a  sort  of 
shifting  but  permanent  Council  of  Public  Safety  endowed 
with  supreme  and  irresponsible  power.  A  greater  politi- 
cal revolution  could  not  be.  The  armed  revolutionaries 
who  carried  sword  and  flame  throughout  the  city  could 
not,  had  they  been  successful  in  their  conjectured  purpose 
of  making  Bajamonte  lord  of  Venice,  have  accomplished 
a  greater  change  in  the  state  than  was  done  silently  by 
this  determined  man. 

That  he  was  determined  and  prompt  and  bold  is  evident 
from  all  his  acts.  The  rapidity  and  silence  of  his  prep- 
arations to  rout  the  insurgents;  the  trap  in  which  he 
caught  them  when,  marching  under  cover  of  the  thunder 
to  surprise  him  in  his  palace,  they  were  themselves  sur- 
prised in  the  Piazza  by  a  little  army  more  strong,  because 
forewarned,  than  their  own;  the  brave  face  he  showed  at 
another  period,  even  in  front  of  the  Pope's  excommuni- 
cation, proclaiming  loudly  to  his  distant  envoys,  "We 
are  determined  to  do  all  that  is  in  us,  manfully  and 
promptly,  to  preserve  our  rights  and  our  honor;"  the 
boldness  of  his  tremendous  innovations  upon  the  very 
fabric  of  the  State;  and  that  final  test  of  success  which 
forcible  character  and  determination  are  more  apt  than 
justice  or  mercy  to  win — leave  no  doubt  as  to  his  intrinsic 


90  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

qualities.  He  was  successful,  and  his  rival  was  unfortu- 
nate; he  was  hated,  and  the  other  was  beloved.  Neither 
of  these  two  figures  stands  prominent  in  picturesque  per- 
sonal detail  out  of  the  pages  of  history.  We  see  them 
only  by  their  acts,  and  only  in  so  far  as  those  acts  affected 
the  great  all-absorbing  story  of  their  city.  But  the  in- 
fluence of  Perazzo  upon  that  history  is  perhaps  more 
remarkable  than  that  of  any  other  individual,  so  far  as 
law  and  sovereignty  are  concerned. 

The  rebel  leader  was  a  very  different  man.  The  noble 
youth  whom  Venice  called  the  Gran  Cavaliero, — the  young 
Cavalier,  as  one  might  say,  like  our  own  Prince  Charlie — 
fiery  and  swift,  bidding  his  kinsman  not  talk  but  act — 
the  hope  of  the  elder  men,  put  forth  by  Marco  Quirini  as 
most  worthy  of  all  to  be  heard  when  the  malcontents  first 
gathered  in  the  palace  near  the  Rialto,  and  ventured  to 
tell  each  other  what  was  in  their  hearts, — could  have  been 
no  common  gallant,  and  yet  would  seem  to  have  had  the 
faults  and  weaknesses  as  well  as  the  noble  qualities  of 
the  careless,  foolhardy  cavalier.  No  doubt  he  held  his 
life  as  lightly  as  any  knight-errant  of  the  time;  yet  when 
his  kinsman  fell  in  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  Merceria,  in 
the  wild  dawning  when  foes  and  friends  were  scarcely  to 
be  distinguished,  Bajamonte,  too,  was  carried  away  by 
the  quick,  imaginary  panic  and  retreated,  dragged  along 
in  the  flight  of  his  discouraged  followers.  He  had  not 
that  proof  of  earnestness  which  success  gives,  and  he  had 
the  ill  fortune  to  escape  when  other  men  perished.  The 
narrative  which  Romanin  has  collected  out  of  the  unpub- 
lished records  of  his  after  life  presents  a  picture  of  rest- 
less exile,  never  satisfied,  full  of  conspiracies,  hopeless 
plots,  everlasting  spyings  and  treacheries,  which  make  the 
heart  sick.  We  can  only  remember  that  Bajamonte  was 
no  worse  in  this  respect  than  his  great  contemporary, 
Dante.  And  perhaps  the  two  exiles  may  have  met,  if  not 
on  those  stairs  which  the  poet  found  so  hard  to  climb, 
yet  somewhere  in  the  wild  roaming  which  occupied  both 
their  lives,  full  of  a  hundred  fruitless  schemes  to  get 
back,  this  to  Florence,  that  to  Venice.  Romanin,  ever 
severe  to  the  rebel,  argues  that  all  circumstances  and  all 
documents  prove  the  hero  of  the  Venetian  tragedy  to 
have  been  "a  man  of  excessive  ambition,  a  subverter  of 
law  and  order;  in  fact,  a  traitor" — most  terrible  of  all 


THE    DOGES.  9! 

reproaches.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  not  he  but 
his  adversary  who  subverted  the  civil  order  of  the  repub- 
lic, and  whether  the  young  Tiepolo  had  a  true  sense  of 
patriotism  at  his  heart,  and  of  patriotic  indignation 
against  these  innovations,  or  was  merely  one  of  the  many 
ambitious  adventurers  of  the  day,  struck  with  the  idea  of 
making  himself  Lord  of  Venice  as  the  Scaligeri  were 
lords  in  Padua  on  no  better  title — there  seems  no  evi- 
dence, and  probably  never  will  be  any  evidence,  to  show. 

When  Bajamonte  left  Venice  he  proceeded  anywhere 
but  to  the  distant  countries  to  which  he  was  nominally 
banished.  Evidently  all  that  was  done  in  the  way  of 
carrying  out  such  a  sentence  was  to  drive  the  banished 
men  out  of  the  confines  of  the  republic,  leaving  them  free 
to  obey  the  further  orders  of  the  authorities  if  they  chose. 
In  this  case  the  exiles  lingered  about  secretly  for  some 
time  in  neighboring  cities,  watched  by  spies  who  reported 
all  their  actions,  and  especially  those  of  Bajamonte,  to 
the  doge.  When  at  last  he  did  proceed  to  Dalmatia,  he 
became,  according  to  Romanin,  a  center  of  conspiracy 
and  treason,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  endless  rebellions 
of  Zara,  which,  however,  had  rebelled  on  every  possible 
occasion  long  before  Bajamonte  was  born.  It  is  curious 
to  find  that  all  the  chroniclers,  and  even  a  writer  so 
recent  and  so  enlightened  as  Romanin,  should  remain 
pitiless  toward  all  rebels  against  the  authority  of  the 
republic.  The  picture  this  historian  gives  of  Bajamonte's 
obscure  and  troubled  career,  pursued  from  one  city  to 
another  by  the  spies  and  letters  of  the  Signoria  warning 
all  and  sundry  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  rebel,  and 
making  his  attempts  to  re-enter  life  impossible,  is  a  very 
sad  one;  but  no  pity  for  the  exile  ever  moves  the  mind 
of  the  narrator.  For  with  the  Venetian  historian,  as 
with  all  other  members  of  this  wonderful  commonwealth, 
Venice  is  everything,  and  the  individual  nothing;  nor 
are  any  man's  wrongs  or  suffering  of  any  importance  in 
comparison  with  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  the  adored 
city. 

The  traces  of  this  insurrection  have  in  the  long  progress 
of  years  almost  entirely  disappeared,  though  at  the  time 
many  commemorative  monuments  bore  witness  to  the 
greatest  popular  convulsion  which  ever  moved  Venice. 
The  Tiepolo  palace,  inhabited  by  Bajamonte,  was  razed 


92  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

to  the  ground,  and  a  pillar,  una  colonna  d'infamia,   was 
placed  on  the  spot  with  the  following  inscription: 

"  Di  Baiamonte  fo  questo  terreno, 
E  mo  *  per  lo  so  Iniquo  tradimento 
S'e  posto  in  Chomun  per  1'altrui  spavento 
E  per  mostrar  a  tutti  sempre  seno." 

"  This  was  the  dwelling  of  Bajamonte;  for  his  wicked 
treason  this  stone  is  set  up,  that  others  may  fear  and 
that  it  may  be  a  sign  to  all."  The  column  was  broken, 
Tassini  tells  us  in  his  curious  and  valuable  work  upon 
the  Streets  of  Venice,  soon  after  it  was  set  up,  by  one  of 
the  followers  of  Tiepolo  who  had  shared  in  the  amnesty, 
but  whose  fidelity  to  his  ancient  chief  was  still  too  warm 
to  endure  this  public  mark  of  infamy.  It  was  then 
removed  to  the  close  neighborhood  of  the  parish  church 
of  St.  Agostino,  probably  for  greater  safety;  afterward 
it  was  transferred,  no  longer  as  a  mark  of  shame  but  as 
a  mere  antiquity,  from  one  patrician's  garden  to  another, 
till  it  was  finally  lost.  In  later  times,  when  the  question 
was  seriously  discussed  whether  Bajamonte  was  not  a 
patriot  leader  rather  than  a  traitor,  proposals  were  made 
to  raise  again  the  column  of  shame  as  a  testimony  of 
glory  misunderstood.  But  the  convictions  of  the  rehabili- 
tators  of  the  Gran  Cavaliero  have  not  been  strong  enough 
to  come  to  any  practical  issue.  All  that  remains  of  him 
is  (or  was)  a  white  stone  let  into  the  pavement  behind 
the  now  suppressed  church  of  St.  Agostino  with  the 
inscription— "Col:  Bai:  The:  MCCCX.,"  marking  the  site 
of  his  house;  but  whether  a  relic  of  his  own  age  or  the 
work  of  some  more  recent  sympathizer  we  are  not  told. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  canal  in  the  campo  of  San  Luca 
stood  till  very  recent  times  a  flagstaff,  ornamented  on 
gala  days  with  the  standard  of  the  Scuola  of  the  Carita 
in  remembrance  of  their  victory  over  one  party  of  the 
insurrectionists;  and  in  the  Merceria,  not  far  from  the 
Piazza,  there  still  exists,  or  lately  existed,  a  shop  with 
the  sign  "Delia  grazia  del  morter"  being  the  same  out 
of  which  Giustina  Rossi  threw  forth  the  flower-pot,  to 
the  destruction  of  the  failing  cause. 

Another  singular  sign  of  disgrace  and  punishment  was 

*"  Quel MO  del  secondo  verso"  says  Tassini,  "  spiegasi  per  ORA,  le 
quel  SENO  dell'  ultimo  per  SIENO,  sot?  intendcndovi,  queste  parole" 


THE   DOGES.  93 

the  condemnation  of  the  families  of  Quirini  and  Tiepolo 
to  a  change  of  armorial  bearings.  Had  they  been  com- 
pelled to  wear  their  arms  reversed,  or  to  bear  any  other 
understood  heraldic  symbol  of  shame,  this  would  have 
been  comprehensible;  but  all  that  seems  to  have  been 
demanded  of  them  was  a  change  of  their  bearings,  not 
any  ignominious  sign.  The  authorities  went  so  far  as  to 
change  the  arms  upon  the  shields  of  the  two  defunct 
Tiepoli  doges;  a  most  senseless  piece  of  vengeance,  since 
it  obliterated  the  shame  which  it  was  intended  to  enhance. 
The  palaces  still  standing  along  the  course  of  the  Grand 
Canal  which  carry,  rising  from  their  roofs,  the  two  obelisks 
erected  upon  all  the  houses  of  the  Tiepoli  for  some 
reason  unknown  to  us,  prove  that  in  latter  days  the 
race  was  little  injured  or  diminished  by  its  disgrace  and 
punishment. 

A  much  greater  memorial  of  this  foiled  rebellion,  how- 
ever, still  remains  to  be  noticed.  This  was  the  institution 
of  the  far-famed  Council  of  Ten,  the  great  tribunal  which 
henceforward  reigned  over  the  republic  with  a  sway 
which  was  in  sober  reality  tremendous  and  appalling,  but 
which  is  still  further  enhanced  by  the  mystery  in  which 
all  its  proceedings  were  wrapped,  and  the  impression  made 
upon  an  imaginative  people  by  the  shadow  of  this  great 
secret,  voiceless  tribunal,  every  man  of  which  was  sworn 
to  silence,  and  before  which  any  Venetian  at  any  moment 
might  find  himself  arraigned.  It  was  professedly  to  guard 
against  such  a  danger  as  that  which  the  republic  had  just 
escaped  that  this  new  tribunal  was  instituted,  "Because 
of  the  new  thing  which  had  happened,  and  to  guard  against 
any  repetition  of  it."  Among  the  many  magistratures 
of  the  city  this  was  the  greatest,  most  fatal,  and  important: 
it  held  the  keys  of  life  and  death;  it  was  responsible  to 
no  superior  authority,  permitted  no  appeal,  and  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  public  opinion  or  criticism,  its 
decisions  as  unquestionable  as  they  were  secret.  The 
system  of  denunciation,  the  secret  documents  dropped 
into  the  Bocca  di  Leone,  the  mysterious  processes  by 
which  a  man  might  be  condemned  before  he  knew  that 
he  had  been  accused,  have  perhaps  been  exaggerated, 
and  Romanin  does  his  utmost  to  prove  that  the  dreaded 
council  was  neither  so  formidable  nor  so  mysterious  as 
romance  has  made  it  out  to  be.  But  his  arguments  are 


94  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

but  poor  in  comparison  with  the  evident  dangers  of  an 
institution,  whose  proceedings  were  wrapped  in  secrecy 
and  which  was  accountable  neither  to  public  opinion  nor 
to  any  higher  tribunal.  Political  offenses  in  our  own 
day  are  judged  more  leniently  than  crime;  in  those  times 
they  were  of  deeper  dye  than  anything  that  originated 
in  private  rage  or  covetousness.  And  amid  the  family 
jealousies  of  that  limited  society  the  opportunity  thus 
given  of  cutting  off  an  enemy,  undermining  the  reputa- 
tion of  any  offender,  or  spoiling  the  career  of  a  too 
prosperous  rival,  was  too  tremendous  a  temptation  for 
human  nature  to  resist.  This  formidable  court  was,  in 
conformity  with  the  usual  Venetian  custom,  appointed 
first  for  a  year  only,  as  an  experiment,  and  with  the 
special  purpose  of  forestalling  further  rebellion  by  the 
most  suspicious  and  inquisitive  vigilance;  but  once 
established  it  was  too  mighty  a  power  to  be  abandoned, 
and  soon  became  an  established  institution. 

Thus  the  two  rebellions  did  nothing  but  rivet  the  chains 
which  had  been  woven  about  the  limbs  of  the  republic. 
And  though  there  still  remained  the  boast  of  freedom, 
and  the  City  of  the  Sea  always  continued  to  vaunt  her 
republican  severity  and  strength,  Venice  now  settled 
into  the  tremendous  framework  of  a  system  which  had 
no  room  for  the  plebeian  or  the  poor;  more  rigid  than 
any  individual  despotism,  in  which  there  are  always 
chances  for  the  new  man;  more  autocratic  and  irresponsi- 
ble than  the  government  of  any  absolute  monarch.  The 
Council  of  Ten  completed  the  bonds  which  the  Serrata  of 
the  council  had  made.  The  greatest  splendors,  if  not  the 
greatest  triumphs  of  the  state  were  yet  to  come,  but  all 
the  possibilities  of  political  freedom  and  expansion  were 
finally  destroyed. 

The  circumstances  which  surrounded  this  new  institu- 
tion were  skillfully,  almost  theatrically  disposed  to  in- 
crease the  terror  with  which  it  was  soon  regarded.  The 
vow  of  secrecy  exacted  from  each  member  and  from  all 
who  appeared  before  them,  the  lion's  mouth  ever  open 
for  denunciations — which,  however  well-founded  may  be 
Romanin's  assertion  that  those  which  were  anonymous 
were  rarely  acted  upon,  yet  bore  an  impression  of  the 
possibility  of  a  dastardly  and  secret  blow,  which  nothing 
can  wipe  out — the  mysterious  manner  in  which  a  man 


THE    DOGES.  95 

accused  was  brought  before  that  tribunal  in  the  dark,  to 
answer  to  judges  only  partially  seen,  with  consciousness 
of  the  torture  room  and  all  its  horrors  near,  if  his  startled 
wits  should  fail  him — all  were  calculated  to  make  the 
name  of  the  Ten  a  name  of  fear.  Nothing  could  be  more 
grim  than  the  smile  of  that  doge  who,  leaving  the  council 
chamber  in  the  early  sunshine  after  a  prolonged  meeting, 
answered  the  unsuspicious  good-morrow  of  the  great 
soldier  whom  he  had  been  condemning,  with  the  words, 
"  There  has  been  much  talk  of  you  in  the  council." 
Horrible  greeting,  which  meant  so  much  more  than  met 
the  ear! 

The  Doge  Gradenigo  died  little  more  than  a  year  after 
the  confusion  and  discomfiture  of  his  adversaries.  He 
was  conveyed,  without  funeral  honors  or  any  of  the  re- 
spect usually  shown  to  the  dead,  to  St.  Cipriano  in 
Murano,  where  he  was  buried.  "The  usual  funeral  of 
princes  was  not  given  to  him,"  says  Caroldo,  "perhaps 
because  he  was  still  under  the  papal  excommunication, 
perhaps  because,  hated  as  he  was  by  the  people  in  his 
lifetime,  it  was  feared  that  some  riot  would  rise  around 
him  in  his  death."  He  who  had  carried  out  the  Serrata, 
and  established  the  Council  of  Ten,  and  triumphed  over 
all  his  personal  opponents,  had  to  skulk  over  the  lagoon, 
privately,  against  all  precedent,  to  his  grave,  leaving  the 
state  in  unparalleled  trouble  and  dismay.  But  he  had 
crushed  the  rebel,  whether  patriot  or  conspirator,  and 
revolutionized  Venice,  which  was  work  enough  and  suc- 
cess enough  for  one  man.  He  died  in  August,  1311,  a 
year  and  some  months  after  the  banishment  of  Bajamonte 
and  the  end  of  his  rebellion. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   DOGES  DISGRACED. 

THE  history  of  the  two  princes  to  whom  Venice  has 
given  a  lasting  place  in  the  annals  of  the  unfortunate, 
those  records  which  hold  a  surer  spell  over  the  heart  than 
any  of  the  more  triumphant  chronicles  of  fame,  are  of 
less  material  import  to  her  own  great  story  than  those 
chapters  of  self-development  and  self-construction  which 
we  have  surveyed.  But  picturesque  in  all  things,  and 
with  a  dramatic  instinct  which  rarely  fails  to  her  race,  the 
republic,  even  in  the  height  of  her  vengeance,  and  by 
means  of  the  deprivation  which  has  banished  his  image 
from  among  those  of  her  rulers,  has  made  the  name  of 
the  beheaded  doge,  Marino  Faliero,  one  of  the  best 
known  in  all  her  records.  We  pass  the  row  of  pictured 
faces,  many  of  them  representing  her  greatest  sons,  till 
we  come  to  the  place  where  this  old  man  is  not,  his  ab- 
sence being  doubly  suggestive  and  carrying  a  human 
interest  beyond  that  of  all  fulfilled  and  perfect  records. 
Nor  is  it  without  significance  in  the  history  of  the  state, 
that  after  having  finally  suppressed  and  excluded  the 
popular  element  from  all  voice  in  its  councils,  the  great 
oligarchy  which  had  achieved  its  proud  position  by  means 
of  doge  and  people,  should  have  applied  itself  to  the  less 
dangerous  task  of  making  a  puppet  of  its  nominal  prince, 
converting  him  into  a  mere  functionary  and  ornamental 
head  of  the  state.  Such  words  have  been  applied  often 
enough  to  the  constitutional  monarch  of  our  own  highly 
refined  and  balanced  system,  and  it  is  usual  to  applaud 
the  strict  and  honorable  self-restraint  of  our  English 
sovereign  as  the  brightest  of  royal  qualities;  but  these 
were  strange  to  the  mediaeval  imagination,  which  had 
little  understanding  of  a  prince  who  was  no  ruler. 
Whether  it  was  in  accordance  with  some  tremendous 
principle  of  action  secretly  conceived  in  the  minds  of  the 
men  who  had  by  a  series  of  skillful  and  cautious  move- 
ments made  the  parliament  of  Venice  into  an  assembly 


THE   DOGES.  97 

of  patricians,  and  then  neutralized  that  assembly  by  the 
still  more  startling  power  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  that 
this  work  was  accomplished,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  It 
is  difficult  indeed  to  imagine  that  such  a  plan  could  be  car- 
ried from  generation  to  generation,  though  it  might  well 
be  conceived,  like  Strafford's  "Thorough,"  in  the  subtle 
intellect  of  some  one  far-seeing  legislator.  Probably 
the  Venetian  statesmen  were  but  following  the  current  of 
a  tendency  such  as  serves  all  the  purpose  of  a  foregone 
determination  in  many  conjunctures  of  human  affairs — a 
tendency  which  one  after  another  leader  caught  or  was 
caught  by,  and  which  swept  toward  its  logical  conclusion 
innumerable  kindred  minds  with  something  of  the  tragic 
cumulative  force  of  those  agencies  of  nature  against 
which  man  can  do  so  little.  It  was,  however,  a  natural 
balance  to  the  defeat  of  the  people  that  the  doge  also 
should  be  defeated  and  bound.  And  from  the  earliest 
days  of  recognized  statesmanship  this  had  been  the  sub- 
ject of  continual  effort,  taking  first  the  form  of  a  jealous 
terror  of  dynastic  succession,  and  gradually  growing, 
through  oaths  more  binding  and  promissioni  more  detailed 
and  stringent,  until  at  length  the  doge  found  himself  less 
than  the  master,  a  little  more  than  the  slave,  of  those 
fluctuating  yet  consistent  possessors  of  the  actual  power 
of  the  state,  who  had  by  degrees  gathered  the  entire 
government  into  their  hands. 

Marino  Faliero  had  been  an  active  servant  of  Venice 
through  a  long  life.  He  had  filled  almost  all  the  great 
offices  which  were  intrusted  to  her  nobles.  He  had 
governed  her  distant  colonies,  accompanied  her  armies 
in  that  position  of  proveditore,  omnipotent  civilian  critic 
of  all  the  movements  of  war,  which  so  much  disgusted 
the  generals  of  the  republic.  He  had  been  ambassador 
at  the  courts  of  both  emperor  and  Pope,  and  was  serving 
his  country  in  that  capacity  at  Avignon  when  the  news  of 
his  election  reached  him.  It  is  thus  evident  that  Faliero 
was  not  a  man  used  to  the  position  of  a  lay  figure, 
although  at  seventy-six  the  dignified  retirement  of  a 
throne,  even  when  so  encircled  with  restrictions,  would 
seem  not  inappropriate.  That  he  was  of  a  haughty  and 
hasty  temper  seems  apparent.  It  is  told  of  him  that, 
after  waiting  long  for  a  bishop  to  head  a  procession  at 
Treviso  where  he  was  podesta,  he  astonished  the  tardy 


98  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

prelate  by  a  box  on  the  ear  when  he  finally  appeared,  a 
punishment  for  keeping  the  authorities  waiting  which  the 
churchman  would  little  expect. 

Old  age  to  a  statesman,  however,  is  in  many  cases  an 
advantage  rather  than  a  defect,  and  Faliero  was  young  in 
vigor  and  character,  and  still  full  of  life  and  strength. 
He  was  married  a  second  time  to  presumably  a  beautiful 
wife  much  younger  than  himself,  though  the  chroniclers 
are  not  agreed  even  on  the  subject  of  her  name,  whether 
she  was  a  Gradenigo  or  a  Contarini.  The  well-known 
story  of  young  Steno's  insult  to  this  lady  and  to  her  old 
husband  has  found  a  place  in  all  subsequent  histories — 
but  there  is  no  trace  of  it  in  the  unpublished  documents 
of  the  state.  The  story  goes  that  Michel  Steno,  one  of 
those  young  and  insubordinate  gallants  who  are  a  danger 
to  every  aristocratic  state,  having  been  turned  out  of  the 
presence  of  the  dogaressa  for  some  unseemly  freedom  of 
behavior,  wrote  upon  the  chair  of  the  doge  in  boyish 
petulance  an  insulting  taunt,  such  as  might  well  rouse  a 
high-tempered  old  man  to  fury.  According  to  Sanudo, 
the  young  man,  on  being  brought  before  the  Forty,  con- 
fessed that  he  had  thus  avenged  himself  in  a  fit  of  passion: 
and  regard  having  been  had  to  his  age  and  the  "heat  of 
love  "  which  had  been  the  cause  of  his  original  misde- 
meanor (a  reason  seldom  taken  into  account  by  the 
tribunals  of  the  state),  he  was  condemned  to  prison  for 
two  months,  and  afterward  to  be  banished  for  a  year 
from  Venice.  The  doge  took  this  light  punishment 
greatly  amiss,  considering  it,  indeed,  as  a  further  insult. 
Sabellico  says  not  a  word  of  Michael  Steno,  or  of  this 
definite  cause  of  offense,  and  Romanin  quotes  the  con- 
temporary records  to  show  that  though  Alcuni  zovan- 
dli  fioli  de  gentiluomini  di  Venetia  are  supposed  to  have 
affronted  the  doge,  no  such  story  finds  a  place  in  any  of 
them.  But  the  old  man  thus  translated  from  active  life 
and  power,  soon  became  bitterly  sensible  in  his  new  posi- 
tion that  he  was  senza  parentado,  with  few  relations,  and 
flouted  by  the  giovinastrt,  the  dissolute  young  gentlemen 
who  swaggered  about  the  Broglio  in  their  finery,  strong 
in  the  support  of  fathers  and  uncles  among  the  Forty 
or  the  Ten.  That  he  found  himself  at  the  same  time 
shelved  in  his  new  rank,  powerless,  and  regarded  as  a 
nobody  in  the  state  where  hitherto  he  had  been  a  potent 


THE   DOGES.  99 

signior, — mastered  in  every  action  by  the  Secret  Tribunal, 
and  presiding  nominally  in  councils  where  his  opinion 
was  of  little  consequence, — is  evident.  And  a  man  so  well 
acquainted,  and  so  long,  with  all  the  proceedings  of  the 
state,  who  had  been  entering  middle  age  in  the  days  of 
Bajamonte,  who  had  seen  consummated  the  shutting  out 
of  the  people,  and  since  had  watched  through  election 
after  election  a  gradual  tightening  of  the  bonds  round 
the  feet  of  the  doge,  would  naturally  have  many  thoughts 
when  he  found  himself  the  wearer  of  that  restricted  and 
diminished  crown.  He  could  not  be  unconscious  of  how 
the  stream  was  going,  nor  unaware  of  that  gradual  sap- 
ping of  privilege  and  decreasing  of  power  which  even  in 
his  own  case  had  gone  further  than  with  his  predecessor. 
Perhaps  he  had  noted  with  an  indignant  mind  the  new 
limits  of  the  promissione,  a  narrower  charter  than  ever, 
when  he  was  called  upon  to  sign  it.  He  had  no  mind,  we 
may  well  believe,  to  retire  thus  from  the  administration 
of  affairs.  And  when  these  giovinastrt,  other  people's 
boys,  the  scum  of  the  gay  world,  flung  their  unsavory 
jests  in  the  face  of  the  old  man,  who  had  no  son  to  come 
after  him,  the  silly  insults  so  lightly  uttered,  so  little 
thought  of,  the  natural  scoff  of  youth  at  old  age,  stung 
him  to  the  quick. 

And  it  so  happened  that  various  complaints  were  at  this 
moment  presented  to  the  doge  in  which  his  own  cause  of 
offense  was  repeated.  A  certain  Barbaro,  one  of  the 
reigning  class,  asking  something  at  the  arsenal  of  an  old 
sailor,  an  admiral  high  in  rank  and  in  the  love  of  the 
people,  but  not  a  patrician,  who  was  not  of  his  opinion, 
struck  the  officer  on  the  cheek,  and  wounded  him  with  a 
great  ring  he  wore.  A  similar  incident  occurred  between 
a  Dandolo  and  another  sea  captain,  Bertuccio  Isarello; 
and  in  both  cases  the  injured  men,  old  comrades  very 
probably  of  Faliero,  men  whom  he  had  seen  representing 
the  republic  on  stormy  seas  or  boarding  the  Genoese 
galleys,  carried  their  complaints  to  the  doge.  ''Such 
evil  beasts  should  be  bound,  and  when  they  cannot  be 
bound  they  are  killed!  "  cried  one  of  the  irritated  seamen. 
Such  words  were  not  unknown  to  the  Venetian  echoes. 
Not  long  before,  a  wealthy  citizen,  who  in  his  youth  had 
been  of  Bajamonte's  insurrection,  had  breathed  a  similar 
sentiment  in  the  ears  of  another  rich  plebeian,  after  both 


100  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

had  expressed  their  indignation  that  the  consiglio  was 
shut  against  them.  The  second  man  in  this  case  betrayed 
the  first,  and  got  the  much-coveted  admission  in  conse- 
quence— he  and  his;  while  his  friend  made  that  fatal 
journey  to  the  Piazzetta  between  the  columns,  from  which 
no  man  ever  came  back. 

Old  Faliero's  heart  burned  within  him  at  his  own  inju- 
ries and  those  of  his  old  comrades.  How  he  was  induced 
to  head  the  conspiracy,  and  put  his  crown,  his  life,  and 
honor  on  the  cast,  there  is  no  further  information.  His 
fierce  temper,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  no  powerful  house 
behind  him  to  help  to  support  his  case,  probably  made 
him  reckless.  It  was  in  the  April  of  1355,  only  six 
months  after  his  arrival  in  Venice  as  doge,  that  the 
smoldering  fire  broke  out.  As  happened  always,  two  of 
the  conspirators  were  seized  with  a  compunction  on  the 
eve  of  the  catastrophe  and  betrayed  the  plot — one  with  a 
merciful  motive  to  serve  a  patrician  he  loved,  the  other 
with  perhaps  less  noble  intentions;  and,  without  a  blow 
struck,  the  conspiracy  collapsed.  There  was  no  real 
heart  in  it,  nothing  to  give  it  consistence;  the  hot  passion 
of  a  few  men  insulted,  the  variable  gaseous  excitement  of 
those  wronged  commoners  who  were  not  strong  enough 
or  strenuous  enough  to  make  the  cause  triumph  under 
Bajamonte;  and  the  ambition,  if  it  was  ambition,  of  one 
enraged  and  affronted  old  man,  without  an  heir  to  follow 
him  or  anything  that  could  make  it  worth  his  while  to 
conquer. 

Did  Faliero  ever  expect  to  conquer,  one  wonders,  when 
he  embarked  at  seventy-seven  on  such  an  enterprise? 
And  if  he  had,  what  good  could  it  have  done  him  save 
vengeance  upon  his  enemies?  An  enterprise  more  wild 
was  never  undertaken.  It  was  the  passionate  stand  of 
despair  against  a  force  so  overwhelming  as  to  make  mad 
the  helpless,  yet  not  submissive  victims.  The  doge,  who 
no  doubt  in  former  days  had  felt  it  to  be  a  mere  affair  of 
the  populace,  a  thing  with  which  a  noble  ambassador  and 
proveditore  had  nothing  to  do,  a  struggle  beneath  his 
notice,  found  himself  at  last,  with  fury  and  amazement, 
to  be  a  fellow-sufferer  caught  in  the  same  toils.  There 
seems  no  reason  to  believe  that  Faliero  consciously 
staked  the  remnant  of  his  life  on  the  forlorn  hope  of 
overcoming  that  awful  and  pitiless  power,  with  any  real 


THE    DOGES.  IOI 

hope  of  establishing  his  own  supremacy.  His  aspect  is 
rather  that  of  a  man  betrayed  by  passion,  and  wildly  for- 
getful of  all  possibility  in  his  fierce  attempt  to  free  him- 
self and  get  the  upper  hand.  One  cannot  but  feel,  in 
that  passion  of  helpless  age  and  unfriendedness,  some- 
thing of  the  terrible  disappointment  of  one  to  whom  the 
real  situation  of  affairs  had  never  been  revealed  before; 
who  had  come  home  triumphant  to  reign  like  the  doges 
of  old,  and  only  after  the  ducal  cap  was  on  his  head  and 
the  palace  of  the  state  had  become  his  home,  found  out 
that  the  doge,  like  the  unconsidered  plebeian,  had  been 
reduced  to  bondage,  his  judgment  and  experience  put 
aside  in  favor  of  the  deliberations  of  a  secret  tribunal, 
and  the  very  boys,  when  they  were  nobles,  at  liberty  to 
jeer  at  his  declining  years. 

The  lesser  conspirators,  all  men  of  the  humbler  sort, — 
Calendario,  the  architect,  who  was  then  at  work  upon 
the  palace,  a  number  of  seamen,  and  other  little-known 
persons, — were  hung,  not  like  greater  criminals,  beheaded 
between  the  columns,  but  strung  up,  a  horrible  fringe, 
along  the  side  of  the  palazzo,  beginning  at  the  two  red 
pillars  now  forming  part  of  the  loggia,  then  apparently 
supporting  the  arches  over  a  window  from  which  the 
doge  was  accustomed  to  behold  the  performances  in  the 
Piazza.  The  fate  of  Faliero  himself  is  too  generally 
known  to  demand  description.  Calmed  by  the  tragic 
touch  of  fate,  the  doge  bore  all  the  humiliations  of  his 
doom  with  dignity,  and  was  beheaded  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  where  he  had  sworn  the  promissione  on  first  assum- 
ing the  office  of  doge.  (Not,  however,  it  need  hardly  be 
said,  at  the  head  of  the  Giants'  Staircase,  which  was  not 
then  in  being.)  What  a  contrast  from  that  triumphant 
day  when  probably  he  felt  that  his  reward  had  come  to 
him  after  the  long  and  faithful  service  of  years! 

Death  stills  disappointment  as  well  as  rage;  and  Faliero 
is  said  to  have  acknowledged  the  justice  of  his  sentence. 
He  had  never  made  any  attempt  to  justify  or  defend 
himself,  but  frankly  and  at  once  avowed  his  guilt,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  escape  from  its  penalties. 

His  body  was  conveyed  privately  to  the  church  of  Sts. 
Giovanni  and  Paolo,  the  great  "Zanipolo"  with  which 
all  visitors  to  Venice  are  so  familiar,  and  was  buried  in 
secrecy  and  silence  in  the  atrio  of  a  little  chapel  behind 


SANTA  B.-          RA  STATE  COLLEGE  L1BRAK 


102  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

the  great  church;  where,  no  doubt,  for  centuries  the  pave- 
ment was  worn  by  many  feet,  with  little  thought  of  who 
lay  below.  Even  from  that  refuge  in  the  course  of  these 
centuries  his  bones  have  been  driven  forth;  but  his  name 
remains  in  that  corner  of  the  Hall  of  the  Great  Council 
which  everybody  has  seen  or  heard  of,  and  where,  with  a 
certain  dramatic  affectation,  the  painter-historians  have 
painted  a  black  veil  across  the  vacant  place.  "This  is 
the  place  of  Marino  Faliero,  beheaded  for  his  crimes," 
is  all  the  record  left  of  the  doge  disgraced. 

Was  it  a  crime?  The  question  is  one  which  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  discuss  with  any  certainty.  That  Faliero  desired 
to  establish,  as  so  many  had  done  in  other  cities,  an  inde- 
pendent despotism  in  Venice,  seems  entirely  unproved. 
It  was  the  prevailing  fear,  the  one  suggestion  which 
alarmed  everybody,  and  made  sentiment  unanimous. 
But  one  of  the  special  points  which  are  recorded  by  the 
chroniclers  as  working  in  him  to  madness,  was  that  he 
was  senza  parentado,  without  any  backing  of  relationship  or 
allies — sonless,  with  no  one  to  come  after  him.  How 
little  likely,  then,  was  an  old  man  to  embark  on  such 
a  desperate  venture  for  self-aggrandizement  merely!  He 
had,  indeed,  a  nephew  who  was  involved  in  his  fate,  but 
apparently  not  so  deeply  as  to  expose  him  to  the  last 
penalty  of  the  law.  The  incident  altogether  points  more 
to  a  sudden  outbreak  of  the  rage  and  disappointment  of 
an  old  public  servant  coming  back  from  his  weary  labors 
for  the  state,  in  triumph  and  satisfaction,  to  what  seemed 
the  supreme  reward;  and  finding  himself  no  more  than  a 
puppet  in  the  hands  of  remorseless  masters,  subject  to  the 
scoffs  of  the  younger  generation — supreme  in  no  sense  of 
the  word,  and  with  his  eyes  opened  by  his  own  suffering, 
perceiving  for  the  first  time  what  justice  there  was  in  the 
oft-repeated  protest  of  the  people,  and  how  they  and  he 
alike  were  crushed  under  the  iron  heel  of  that  oligarchy  to 
which  the  power  of  the  people  and  that  of  the  prince  were 
equally  obnoxious.  The  chroniclers  of  his  time  were  so 
much  at  a  loss  to  find  any  reason  for  such  an  attempt  on 
the  part  of  a  man  non  abbiando  alcum  propinquo  that  they 
agree  in  attributing  it  to  diabolical  inspiration.  It  was 
more  probably  that  fury  which  springs  from  a  sense  of 
wrong,  which  the  sight  of  the  wrongs  of  others  raised  to 
frenzy,  and  that  intolerable  impatience  of  the  impotent 


.  where,  no  d  ;unesthr 

*y  many  fe« ':    *:tn  little  thought  < 
Even  from  t;  •  in  the  course  of  thr?.. 

-  his  tKMiec  !»-u:      ,-een  driven  forth;  but  his  name 
a  that  <:••  :  •    v  of  the  Hall  of  the  Grea 
.>  every'h  o  seen  or  heard  of,  and  where, 

•  in  drani  '      affectation,  the  painter-historians  have 
;ed  a  l>'*c:lc  veil  across  the  vacant  place.     "This  is 
the  place  •;$   Marino  Faliero,  beheaded  for  his  crimes," 

th<*  record  left  of  tin:  doge  disgraced. 
Wus  :t  a  crime?     Th  ion  is  one  which  it  is  diffi- 

cult to  discuss  with  a;  nty.     That  Faliero  desired 

to  establish,  as  s<-  ^er  cities,  an  inde- 

pendent desp  lucr-,  seems  entirely  unproved. 

It  was  the    j  :r,    the   one    suggestion  which 

alarmed   eve,  made    sentiment    unanimous. 

But  one  of  the  *jj*  which  are  recorded  by  the 

chroniclers  as  •  to  madness,  was  that  he 

was  senza  parcntt:  Backing  of  relationship  or 

allies — sonlf  him.     How 

GbeteT'bF  THE  DUCAL  PALACE,  GIANT'S  S'fcatiCAgE  on  such 
a  desperate  ven1  merely!     He 

had,  indeed,  a  ne-  ,  but 

apparently  not  so  * 
penalty  of  the  law.      1 
to  a  sudden  outbreak 
ar  <;-,!  public  servant  c-> 
ft^r  tlif  slate,  in  triump 

the  *       *  -»u  reward;  .  ;un  a 

pup:<--         '.'    hands  of  :  •  the 

so  J?><?  vounger  genera  no  sense  of 

the  with  his  eyes  opt  ,wn  suffering, 

perct  the  first  tim  :'>re  was  in  the 

ep<4..;r  :c«i  of  the  .  K>W  they  and  he 

vv.  .-iderthek  it  oligarchy  to 

the  people  and  that  of  the  prince  were 

The  chroniclers  of  his  time  were  so 

vny  reason  for  such  an  attempt  on 

the  r  -    iteiando  alcum  propinquo  that  they 

•  diabolical  inspiration.     ]• 

rnorf  at  fury  vhich  springs  from  a  sense  of 

wron .  •  he  wrongs  of  others  rakcd  to 

intolerable  impatience  of  the  >ajpotent 


THE    DOGES.  103 

which  is  more  harsh  in  its  hopelessness  than  the  greatest 
hardihood.  He  could  not  but  die  for  it;  but  there  seems 
no  more  reason  to  characterize  this  impossible  attempt  as 
deliberate  treason  than  to  give  the  same  name  to  many 
an  alliance  formed  between  prince  and  people  in  other 
regions — the  king  and  commons  of  our  early  Stuarts,  for 
one — against  the  intolerable  exactions  and  cruelty  of  an 
aristocracy  too  powerful  to  be  faced  by  either  alone. 

FRANCESCO  FOSCARI  was  a  more  innocent  sufferer,  and 
his  story  is  a  most  pathetic  and  moving  tale.  Seventy 
years  had  elapsed  since  the  dethronement  and  execution 
of  Faliero,  the  fifteenth  century  was  in  its  first  quarter, 
and  all  the  complications  and  crimes  of  that  wonderful 
period  were  in  full  operation  when  the  old  Doge  Tom- 
maso  Mocenigo  on  his  deathbed  reviewed  the  probable 
competitors  for  his  office,  and  warned  the  republic 
specially  against  Foscari.  The  others  were  all  men  da 
bene,  but  Foscari  was  proud  and  deceitful,  grasping  and 
prodigal,  and  if  they  elected  him  they  would  have  nothing 
but  wars.  He  was  at  the  same  time,  gravely  adds  one  of 
the  electors  in  the  severe  contest  for  his  election,  a  man 
with  a  large  family,  and  a  young  wife  who  added  another 
to  the  number  once  a  year;  and  therefore  was  likely  to 
be  grasping  and  covetous  so  far  as  money  was  concerned. 

Notwithstanding  these  evil  prognostications  the  reign 
of  Foscari  was  a  great  one  and  full  of  important  events. 
He  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  his  predecessor  in  so  far  that 
war  was  perpetual  in  his  time,  and  the  republic  under 
him  involved  itself  in  all  the  contentions  which  tore  Italy 
asunder,  and,  joining  with  the  Florentines  against  the 
victorious  Lord  of  Milan,  Fillipo  Maria  Visconti,  and 
having  the  good  fortune  to  secure  Carmagnola  for  its 
general,  became  in  its  turn  aggressive,  and  conquered 
town  after  town;  losing,  retaking,  and  in  one  or  two 
instances  securing  permanently  the  sovereignty  of  great 
historic  cities.  The  story  of  the  great  soldiers  of  fortune, 
which  is  to  a  large  extent  the  story  of  the  time,  will  be 
told  in  another  chapter,  and  we  need  not  attempt  to  dis- 
cover what  was  the  part  of  the  doge  in  the  tragedy  of 
Carmagnola. 

From  the  limitations  of  the  prince's  power  which  we 
have  indicated  it  will,  however,  be  evident  enough  that 


104  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

neither  in  making  war  nor  in  the  remorseless  punishment 
of  treachery,  whether  real  or  supposed,  could  the 
responsibility  rest  with  the  doge,  who  could  scarcely  be 
called  even  the  most  important  member  of  the  courts 
over  which  he  presided.  It  is  not  until  the  end  of  his 
brilliant  career  that  Francesco  Foscari  separates  himself 
from  the  roll  of  his  peers  in  that  tragic  distinction  of 
great  suffering  which  impresses  an  image  upon  the  popular 
memory  more  deeply  than  the  greatest  deeds  can  do. 
Notwithstanding  the  reference  quoted  above  to  the 
alarming  increase  of  his  family,  there  was  left  within  a 
few  years,  of  his  five  sons,  but  one,  Jacopo,  who  was  no 
soldier  nor  statesman,  but  an  elegant  young  man  of  his 
time,  full  of  all  the  finery,  both  external  and  internal,  of 
the  Renaissance,  a  Greek  scholar  and  collector  of  manu- 
scripts, a  dilettante  and  leader  of  the  golden  youth  of 
Venice,  who  were  no  longer,  as  in  the  stout  days  of  the 
republic,  trained  to  encounter  the  clang  of  arms  and  the 
uncertainties  of  the  sea.  The  battles  of  Terra  Firma 
were  conducted  by  mercenaries,  under  generals  who 
made  of  war  a  costly  and  long-drawn-out  game;  and  the 
young  nobles  of  the  day  haunted  the  Broglio  under  the 
arches  of  the  palazzo,  or  schemed  and  chattered  in 
the  antechambers,  or  spread  their  gay  plumes  to  the  sun 
in  festas  and  endless  parties  of  pleasure.  When  Jacopo 
Foscari  was  married  the  splendor  of  his  marriage  feast 
was  such  that  even  the  gravest  of  historians,  amid  all  the 
crowding  incidents  of  the  time,  pauses  to  describe  the 
wedding  procession.  A  bridge  was  thrown  across  the  canal 
opposite  the  Foscari  palace,  over  which  passed  a  hundred 
splendid  young  cavaliers  on  horseback,  making  such  a 
show  as  must  have  held  all  Venice  breathless;  caracoling 
cautiously  over  the  temporary  pathway  not  adapted  for 
such  passengers,  and  making  their  way,  one  does  not 
quite  understand  how,  clanging  and  sliding  along  the 
stony  ways,  up  and  down  the  steps  of  the  bridges  to 
the  Piazza,  where  a  tournament  was  held  in  honor  of  the 
occasion.  They  were  all  in  the  finest  of  clothes,  velvets 
and  satins  and  cloth  of  gold,  with  wonderful  calze,  one 
leg  white  and  the  other  red,  and  various  braveries  more 
fine  than  had  ever  been  seen  before.  The  bride  went  in 
all  her  splendor,  silver  brocade  and  jewels  sparkling  in 
the  sun,  in  a  beautiful  and  graceful  procession  of  boats 


THE   DOGES.  105 

to  San  Marco.  She  was  a  Contarini,  a  neighbor  from 
one  of  the  great  palaces  on  the  same  side.  The  palace 
of  the  Foscari,  as  it  now  stands  in  the  turn  of  the  canal 
ascending  toward  the  Rialto,  had  just  been  rebuilt  by 
Doge  Francesco  in  its  present  form,  and  was  the  center 
of  all  these  festivities;  the  house  of  the  bride  being  near, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  San  Barnaba.  No  doubt  the 
hearts  of  the  Foscari  and  all  their  retainers  must  have 
been  uplifted  by  the  glories  of  a  festa  more  splendid  than 
had  ever  been  given  in  Venice  on  such  an  occasion. 

But  this  brilliant  sky  soon  clouded  over.  Only  three 
years  after  Jacopo  fell  under  suspicion  of  having  taken 
bribes  to  promote  the  interests  of  various  suitors,  and  to 
have  obtained  offices  and  pensions  for  them  per  broglio; 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  endless  schemes,  consultations,  ex- 
changes, and  social  conspiracies  of  the  general  meeting 
place,  the  Broglio,  a  name  which  stood  for  all  the  jobbing 
and  backstairs  influences  which  flourish  not  less  in 
republics  than  in  despotisms.  Against  this  offense,  when 
found  out,  the  laws  were  very  severe,  and  Jacopo  was 
sentenced  to  banishment  to  Naples,  where  he  was  to 
present  himself  daily  to  the  representative  of  the  republic 
there — a  curious  kind  of  penalty  according  to  our  present 
ideas.  Jacopo,  however,  fled  to  Trieste,  where,  happily 
for  himself,  he  fell  ill,  and  after  some  months  was  allowed 
to  change  his  place  of  exile  to  Treviso,  and  finally,  on  a 
pathetic  appeal  from  the  doge,  was  pardoned  and  allowed 
to  return  to  Venice. 

Three  years  afterward,  however,  a  fatal  event  occurred, 
the  assassination  of  one  of  the  Council  of  Ten  who  had 
condemned  Jacopo, — Ermolao  Donate, — who  was  stabbed 
as  he  left  the  palace  after  one  of  its  meetings.  The 
evidence  which  connected  Jacopo  with  this  murder  seems 
of  the  slightest.  One  of  his  servants,  a  certain  Olivieri, 
met  on  the  road  to  Mestre,  almost  immediately  after,  one 
of  the  house  of  Gritti,  and  being  asked  "  What  news? " 
replied  by  an  account  of  this  assassination,  a  fact  which 
it  was  barely  possible  he  could  have  heard  of  by  common 
report  before  he  left  Venice.  This  was  considered  suffi- 
cient to  justify  the  man's  arrest  and  examination  by  tor- 
ture, which  made  him  confess  everything,  Sanudo  tells 
us.  Jacopo,  too,  was  exposed  to  this  method  of  extort- 
ing the  truth,  but  "because  of  his  bodily  weakness,  and 


106  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

of  some  words  of  incantation  employed  by  htm,  the  truth 
could  not  be  obtained  from  his  mouth,  as  he  only  mur- 
mured between  his  teeth  certain  unintelligible  words 
when  undergoing  the  torture  of  the  rack."  In  these  cir- 
cumstances he  had  a  mild  sentence  and  was  banished  to 
the  island  of  Candia.  Here  the  exile,  separated  from  all 
he  loved  and  from  all  the  refinements  of  the  life  he  loved, 
was  not  long  at  rest.  He  took,  according  to  one  account, 
a  singular  and  complicated  method  of  further  incrimi- 
nating himself  and  thus  procuring  his  return  to  Venice, 
if  even  to  fresh  examination  and  torture — by  writing 
a  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Milan,  against  whom  the  republic 
had  fought  so  long,  asking  his  intercession  with  the 
Signoria;  a  letter  which  he  never  intended  to  reach 
the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but  only  to  induce 
the  jealous  council  to  whom  it  was  artfully  betrayed  to 
recall  him  for  further  question;  which  at  least,  in  the 
middle  of  whatever  sufferings,  would  give  his  impatient 
heart  a  sight  of  those  from  whom  he  had  been  separated. 
That  it  should  have  been  possible  even  to  invent  such  a 
story  of  him  conveys  a  kind  of  revelation  of  the  foolish, 
hot-headed,  yet  tender-hearted  being,  vainly  struggling 
among  natures  so  much  too  strong  for  him — which  sheds 
the  light  of  many  another  domestic  tragedy  upon  this. 

The  matter  would  seem,  however,  to  have  been  more 
serious,  though  Romanin's  best  investigations  bring  but 
very  scanty  proof  of  the  graver  accusation  brought 
against  the  banished  man;  which  was  that  of  an  attempt 
on  Jacopo's  part  to  gain  his  freedom  by  means  of  the 
Sultan  and  the  Genoese,  the  enemies  of  the  republic. 
The  sole  document  given  in  proof  of  this  is  a  letter 
written  by  the  council  to  the  Governor  of  Candia,  in 
which  the  account  of  the  attempt,  given  in  his  own  com- 
munication to  them,  is  repeated  in  detail — of  itself  a 
somewhat  doubtful  proceeding.  To  say  "You  told  us 
so  and  so,"  is  seldom  received  as  independent  proof  of 
alleged  facts.  There  are,  however,  letters  in  cipher 
referred  to,  which  may  have  given  authentication  to  these 
accusations.  Romanin,  however,  is  so  manifestly  anx- 
ious to  justify  the  authorities  of  Venice  and  to  sweep 
away  the  romance  which  he  declares  to  have  gathered 
about  these  terrible  incidents,  that  the  reader  can 
scarcely  avoid  a  certain  reaction  of  suspicion  against  the 


THE   DOGES.  107 

too  great  warmth  of  the  defense.  Some  personal  touches 
may,  no  doubt,  have  been  added  by  adverse  historians  to 
heighten  the  picture.  But  it  would  be  wiser  for  even  the 
patriotic  Venetian  to  admit  that,  at  least  three  times  in 
that  cruel  century — in  the  case  of  the  Carrari  murdered 
in  their  prison,  in  that  of  Carmagnola  beguiled  into  the 
cell  from  which  he  came  out  only  to  die,  and  in  that  of 
the  unfortunate  Foscari — that  remorseless  and  all-power- 
ful Council  of  Ten,  responsible  to  no  man,  without  any 
safeguard  even  of  publicity,  who  were  too  much  feared 
to  be  resisted  and  all  whose  proceedings  were  wrapped 
in  seeming  impenetrability,  stands  beyond  the  possibility 
of  defense.  There  are  few  historians  who  do  not  find  it 
necessary  to  acknowledge  at  some  points  that  the  most 
perfect  of  human  governments  has  failed,  but  this  the 
Venetian  enthusiast — and  all  Venetians  are  enthusiasts — 
is  extremely  reluctant  to  do. 

Poor  Jacopo,  with  his  weak  mind  and  his  weak  body, 
and  the  lightness  of  nature  which  both  friends  and  foes 
admitted,  perhaps  rejoicing  in  the  success  of  his  strata- 
gem, perhaps  troubled  in  the  consciousness  of  guilt,  but 
yet  with  a  sort  of  foolish  happiness  anyhow  in  coming 
home,  and  hoping,  as  such  sanguine  people  do,  in  some 
happy  chance  that  might  make  all  right,  was  brought 
back  in  custody  of  one  of  the  Ten — a  Loredano,  the  enemy 
of  his  house,  who  had  been  sent  to  fetch  him.  It  would 
seem  that  when  the  unfortunate  prisoner  was  brought  be- 
fore this  awful  tribunal,  he  confessed  everything;  de piano, 
says  Sanudo,  spontaneamente,  adds  Romanin,  probably  for- 
getting the  horrible  torture  chamber  next  door,  which  Ja- 
copo had  too  good  reason  to  remember,  and  to  avoid  which 
this  easy-going  and  light-minded  sinner,  intent  only  upon 
seeing  once  again  those  whom  he  loved,  would  be  ready 
enough  to  say  whatever  their  illustrious  worships  pleased. 
The  stern  Loredano  would  have  had  him  beheaded  be- 
tween the  columns;  but  even  the  Ten  and  their  coadju- 
tors were  not  severe  enough  for  that;  and  his  sentence 
was  only,  after  all,  to  be  retransported  to  Candia  and  to 
spend  a  year  in  prison  there — a  sentence  which  makes  any 
real  and  dangerous  conspiracy  on  his  part  very  unlikely. 
When  the  sentence  was  given,  his  prayer — to  make  which 
he  had,  as  some  say,  thus  risked  his  head — that  he  might 
see  his  family  was  laid  before  the  court.  The  doge  and 


I08  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

all  other  relations  had  been  during  the  proceedings 
against  him  excluded,  according  to  the  law,  from  the 
sittings  of  the  council;  so  that  the  statement  that  he  was 
sentenced  by  his  father  is  pure  romance.  His  petition 
was  granted,  and  father  and  mother,  wife  and  children, 
were  permitted  to  visit  the  unfortunate.  When  the 
moment  of  farewell  came,  it  was  not  in  his  prison,  but  in 
the  apartments  of  the  doge,  that  the  last  meeting  took 
place.  Poor  Jacopo,  always  light-minded,  never  able 
apparently  to  persuade  himself  that  all  this  misery  was  in 
earnest,  and  could  not  be  put  aside  by  the  exertions  of 
somebody,  made  yet  one  more  appeal  to  his  father  in  the 
midst  of  the  sobs  and  kisses  of  the  unhappy  family. 
"  Father,  I  beseech  you,  make  them  let  me  go  home,"  he 
said  to  the  poor  old  doge,  who  knew  too  well  how  little 
he  could  do  to  help  or  succor.  "Padre,  vi  prego  procurt 
per  mi  che  ritorni  a  casa  mia  :"  as  if  he  had  been  a  school- 
boy caught  in  some  trifling  offense,  with  that  invincible 
ignorance  of  the  true  meaning  of  things  which  the  Catho- 
lic Church,  with  fine  human  instinct,  acknowledges  as  a 
ground  of  salvation.  But  it  is  not  an  argument  which 
tells  with  men.  "  Jacopo,  go;  obey  the  will  of  the  coun- 
try, and  try  no  more,"  said  the  doge  with  the  simplicity 
of  despair.  No  romance  is  needed  to  enhance  the  pathos 
of  this  scene. 

When  the  exile  had  departed  pity  would  seem  to  have 
touched  the  hearts  of  various  spectators,  and  by  their 
exertions,  six  months  later,  his  pardon  was  obtained.  But 
too  late.  Before  the  news  could  reach  him  the  unhappy 
Jacopo  had  gone  beyond  the  reach  of  all  human  recall. 

The  aged  doge,  the  father  of  this  unfortunate  young 
man,  had  been  the  head  of  the  Venetian.state  through  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  and  splendid  periods  of  its  history. 
He  had  been  always  at  war,  as  his  predecessor  had 
prophesied ;  but  his  wars  had  been  often  victorious  for  the 
republic,  and  had  added  greatly,  for  the  time  at  least,  to 
her  territories  and  dominion.  Whether  these  acquisitions 
were  of  any  real  advantage  to  Venice  is  another  question. 
They  involved  a  constant  expenditure  of  money  such  as 
is  ruinous  to  most  states,  but  the  glory  and  the  triumph 
were  always  delightful  to  her.  Foscari  had  held  the 
place  of  a  great  prince  in  the  estimation  of  the  world,  and 
his  life  had  been  princely  at  home  in  every  way  that  can 


THE   DOGES.  109 

affect  the  imagination  and  stimulate  the  pride  of  a  nation; 
he  had  received  the  greatest  personages  in  Christendom, 
the  emperors  of  the  East  and  of  the  West,  and  entertained 
them  royally  to  the  gratification  and  pride  of  all  Venice; 
he  had  beautified  the  city  with  new  buildings  and  more 
commodious  streets;  he  had  made  feasts  and  pageants 
more  magnificent  than  ever  had  been  seen  before.  But 
for  the  last  dozen  years  of  this  large,  princely,  and 
splendid  life  a  cloud  had  come  over  all  its  glory  and 
prosperity.  There  is  no  lack  of  parallels  to  give  the 
interested  spectator  an  understanding  of  what  a  son  such 
as  Jacopo — so  reckless,  so  light-minded,  so  incapable  of 
any  serious  conception  of  the  meaning  of  life  and  its  risks 
and  responsibilities,  yet  with  so  many  claims  in  his  facile, 
affectionate  nature  upon  those  who  loved  him — must  have 
been  to  the  father,  proud  of  his  many  gifts,  bowed  down 
by  his  follies,  watching  his  erratic  course  with  sickening 
terrors;  angry,  tender,  indignant,  pitiful;  concealing  his 
own  disappointment  and  misery  in  order  to  protect  and 
excuse  and  defend  the  son  who  was  breaking  his  heart. 
The  spectacle  is  always  a  sad  one,  but  never  rare;  and 
the  anguish  of  the  father's  silent  watch,  never  knowing 
what  folly  might  come  next,  acutely  feeling  the  fault  and 
every  reproof  of  the  fault,  his  pride  humbled,  his  name 
disgraced,  his  every  hope  failing,  but  never  the  love  that 
underlies  all — is  one  of  the  deepest  which  can  affect  human- 
ity. Foscari  was  over  seventy  when  this  ordeal  began. 
Perhaps  he  had  foreseen  it  even  earlier;  but  when  he 
made  that  most  splendid  of  feasts  at  his  son's  bridal,  and 
saw  him  established  with  his  young  wife  in  the  magnifi- 
cent new  palace,  with  his  books  and  his  manuscripts,  his 
chivalrous  and  courtly  companions,  his  Greek, — the 
crown  of  accomplishment  and  culture  in  his  time, — who 
could  suppose  that  Jacopo  would  so  soon  be  a  fugitive 
and  an  exile?  The  years  between  seventy  and  eighty  are 
not  those  in  which  a  man  is  most  apt  to  brave  the  effects 
of  prolonged  anxiety  and  sorrow,  and  Foscari  was  eighty- 
four  when,  after  the  many  vicissitudes  of  this  melan- 
choly story,  he  bade  Jacopo  go  and  bear  his  sentence  and 
try  no  more  to  elude  it.  When  the  news  came  six  months 
after  that  his  only  son  was  dead — dead  far  away  and 
alone,  among  strangers,  just  when  a  troubled  hope  had 
arisen  that  he  might  come  back,  and  be  wiser  another 


110  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

time — the  courage  of  the  old  doge  broke  down.  He  could 
no  longer  give  his  mind  to  the  affairs  of  the  state,  or  sit, 
a  venerable  image  of  sorrow,  patience,  and  self-control, 
at  the  head  of  the  court  which  had  persecuted  and  hunted 
to  the  death  his  foolish,  beloved  boy.  One  can  imagine 
how  the  very  touch  of  the  red  robe  of  Loredano  brushing 
by  would  burn  to  the  heart  the  old  man  who  could  not 
avenge  himself,  but  in  whom  even  the  stillness  of  his  age 
and  the  habit  of  self-command  could  not  take  away  the 
recollection  that  there  stood  the  man  who  had  voted 
death  between  the  columns  for  poor  Jacopo's  follies! 
Who  could  wonder  that  he  forbore  to  attend  their  meet- 
ings, and  that  in  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  it  seemed  not 
worth  while  to  go  on  appearing  to  fulfill  an  office  all  the 
real  power  of  which  had  been  taken  from  his  hands? 

Thereupon  there  got  up  a  low,  fierce  murmur  among 
the  Ten;  not  too  rapidly  developed.  They  waited  a 
month  or  two,  marking  all  his  absences  and  slackness 
before  gathering  together  to  talk  of  matters  secretissimc 
concerning  Messer  lo  Doge;  they  said  to  each  other  that 
it  was  a  great  inconvenience  to  the  state  to  have  a  doge 
incapable  of  attending  the  councils  and  looking  after  the 
affairs  of  the  republic;  and  that  it  was  full  time  they 
should  have  a  zonta  or  junta  of  nobles  to  help  them  to 
discuss  the  question.  The  law  had  been  that  in  case  of 
the  absence  (which  often  happened  on  state  affairs)  or 
illness  of  the  doge,  a  vice-doge  should  be  elected  in  his 
place;  but  of  this  regulation  no  heed  was  taken,  and  the 
issue  of  their  deliberations  was  that  a  deputation  should 
be  sent  to  the  doge  to  desire  him  spontaneamente  e  libra- 
mente  to  resign  his  office.  Foscari  had  more  than  once 
in  his  long  tenure  of  office  proposed  to  retire,  but  his 
attempt  at  resignation  had  never  been  received  by  the 
council.  It  is  one  thing  to  make  such  an  offer,  and  quite 
another  to  have  it  proposed  from  outside;  and  when  the 
deputation  suddenly  appeared  in  the  sorrowful  chamber 
where  the  old  man  sat  retired,  he  refused  to  give  them 
any  immediate  answer.  For  one  thing  it  was  not  their 
business  to  make  such  a  demand,  the  law  requiring  that 
the  Consiglio  Maggiore  should  be  consulted,  and  should 
at  least  agree  in,  if  not  originate,  so  important  an  act. 
But  the  Ten  had  perhaps  gone  too  far  to  draw  back,  and 
when  the  deputation  returned  without  a  definite  reply, 


THE   DOGES.  Ill 

the  ceremonial  of  waiting  for  the  spontaneous  and  free 
dimission  of  the  disgraced  prince  was  thrown  aside,  and 
an  intimation  was  made  to  him  that  his  resignation  was  a 
matter  of  necessity,  and  that,  if  within  eight  days  he  had 
not  left  the  palace,  his  property  would  be  confiscated. 
When  this  arbitrary  message  was  conveyed  to  him  the 
old  man  attempted  no  further  resistance.  His  ducal  ring 
was  drawn  from  his  finger  and  broken  to  pieces  in  the 
presence  of  the  deputation  who  had  brought  him  these 
final  orders,  headed  by  his  enemy  Loredano — not,  says 
the  apologetic  historian,  because  he  was  Foscari's  enemy, 
which  was  a  cruelty  the  noble  Ten  were  incapable  of,  but 
because  he  was,  after  Foscari  himself,  the  finest  orator 
of  the  republic  and  most  likely  to  put  things  in  a  good 
light!  The  ducal  cap  with  its  circlet  of  gold,  the  histori- 
cal Corno,  was  taken  from  his  tremulous  old  head,  and  a 
promise  extracted  that  he  would  at  once  leave  the  palace. 
The  following  incident  is  too  touching  not  to  be  given 
in  the  words  quoted  by  Romanin  from  the  unpublished 
chronicles  of  Delfino.  As  the  procession  of  deputies  filed 
away,  the  discrowned  doge  saw  one  of  them,  Jacopo 
Memmo,  one  of  the  heads  of  the  Forty,  look  at  him  with 
sympathetic  and  compassionate  eyes.  The  old  man's 
heart,  no  doubt,  was  full,  and  a  longing  for  human  fellow- 
ship must  have  been  in  him  still.  He  called  the  man  who 
gave  him  that  friendly  look  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

"'Whose  son  art  thou?'*  [It  is  the  Venetian  ver- 
nacular that  is  used,  not  ceremonious  Italian,  "Dickies 
tufio?"~\  I  answered,  '  I  am  the  son  of  Marin  Memmo.' 
To  which  the  doge — 'He  is  my  dear  friend;  tell  him 
from  me  that  it  would  be  sweet  to  me  if  he  would  come 
and  pay  me  a  visit,  and  go  with  me  in  my  bark  for  a  little 
pleasure.  We  might  go  and  visit  the  monasteries.' " 

It  is  difficult  to  read  this  simple  narrative  without  a 
sympathetic  tear.  Despoiled  of  the  vestments  of  his 
office  which  he  had  worn  for  thirty-four  years,  amid  all 
the  magnificence  of  one  of  the  richest  and  most  splendid 
states  in  the  world,  the  old  man  pauses,  with  a  tremulous 
smile  more  sad  than  weeping,  to  make  his  last  gracious 

*  "  Di  chi  es  tu  fio  ?  Rispose,  To  son  figlio  di  Messere  Marin  Memmo. 
Al  chi  il  doxe,  L'e  mio  caro  compagno  ;  dilli  da  mia  parte  che  avero  caro 
ch'  el  mi  vegna  a-  visitar,  accio  el  vegna  con  mi  in  barca  a  solazzo  : 
andaremo  a  visitare  i  monastieri." 


112  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

invitation — the  habit  of  his  past  sovereignty  exercised 
once  more,  at  once  with  sorrowful  humor,  and  that  wist- 
ful turning  to  old  friends  which  so  often  comes  with 
trouble.  If  it  had  ever  been  accomplished,  what  a  touch- 
ing party  of  pleasure!  the  two  old  men  in  their  barca 
going  forth  a  solazzo,  making  their  way  across  the  shining 
waters  to  San  Giorgio,  perhaps  as  far  as  San  Servolo  if 
the  weather  were  fine;  for  it  was  October,  and  no  time 
to  be  lost  before  the  winter  set  in  for  the  two  old  com- 
panions, eighty  and  more.  But  that  voyage  of  pleasure 
never  was  made. 

The  same  day  the  doge  left  the  palace  where  he  had 
spent  so  many  years  of  glory  and  so  many  of  sorrow, 
accompanied  by  his  old  brother  Marco,  and  followed 
sadly  by  his  household  and  relations.  "  Serenissimo,"  said 
Marco  Foscari,  "it  is  better  to  go  to  the  boat  by  the 
other  stair,  which  is  covered."  But  the  old  doge  held  on 
in  the  direction  he  had  first  taken.  "  I  will  go  down  by 
the  same  stair  which  I  came  up  when  I  was  made  doge,"  he 
said,  much  as  Faliero  had  done.  And  then  the  mournful 
procession  rode  away  along  the  front  of  the  palace,  past 
all  the  boats  that  lay  round  the  dogana,  between  the  lines 
of  great  houses  on  either  side  of  the  canal,  to  the  new 
shining  palace,  scarcely  faded  from  its  first  splendor,  where 
Jacopo  sixteen  years  before  had  taken  his  bride.  The 
house  that  has  seen  so  many  generations  since  and 
vicissitudes  of  life  still  stands  there  at  its  corner,  the 
water  sweeping  round  two  sides  of  it,  and  the  old  gate- 
way, merlato,  in  its  ancient  bravery,  on  the  smaller  canal 
behind. 

This  was  on  the  24th  October,  1357.  The  new  doge 
was  elected  on  the  3ist,  and  on  the  ist  November 
Francesco  Foscari  died.  The  common  story  goes  that 
the  sound  of  the  bell  which  announced  the  entry  of  his 
successor  was  the  old  man's  final  deathblow,  but  it  is 
unnecessary  to  add  this  somewhat  coarse  touch  of 
popular  effect  to  the  pathetic  story.  The  few  days  which 
elapsed  between  the  two  events  were  not  too  much  for  the 
operation  of  dying,  which  is  seldom  accomplished  in  a 
moment.  When  the  new  prince  and  his  court  assembled 
in  San  Marco  on  All  Saints'  Day  to  Mass,  Andrea  Donato, 
the  old  doge's  son-in-law,  came  in  and  announced,  no 
doubt  with  a  certain  solemn  satisfaction  and  conscious- 


THE    DOGES.  113 

ness  of  putting  these  conspirators  forever  in  the  wrong, 
the  death  of  Foscari.  The  councilors  who  had  pursued 
him  to  his  end  looked  at  each  other  mute,  with  eyes,  let 
us  hope,  full  of  remorse  and  shame. 

And  he  had  a  magnificent  funeral,  which  is  always  so 
easy  to  bestow.  The  Corno  was  taken  again  from  the 
head  of  the  new  doge  to  be  put  on  the  dead  brows  of  the 
old,  and  he  lay  in  state  in  the  hall  from  which  he  had 
been  expelled  a  week  before,  and  was  carried,  with  every 
magnificence  the  republic  could  give,  to  the  noble  church 
of  the  Frari,  with  tapers  burning  all  the  way,  and  every 
particular  of  solemn  pomp  that  custom  authorized. 
There  he  lies  under  a  weight  of  sculptured  marble,  his 
sufferings  all  over  for  five  hundred  years  and  more;  but 
never  the  story  of  his  greatness,  his  wrongs,  and  sorrows, 
which  last  gave  him  such  claims  upon  the  recollection  of 
mankind  as  no  magnificence  nor  triumph  can  bestow. 


PART  II.— BY  SEA   AND  BY  LAND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  TRAVELERS:   NICCOLO,  MATTEO,  AND  MARCO  POLO. 

IN  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  two  brothers 
of  the  Venetian  family  of  Polo,  established  for  a  long 
time  in  the  parish  of  San  Giovanni  Crisostomo,  carrying 
on  their  business  in  the  midst  of  all  the  tumults  of  the 
times  as  if  there  had  been  nothing  but  steady  and  peace- 
ful commerce  in  the  world,  were  at  the  head  of  a  mer- 
cantile house  at  Constantinople,  probably  the  branch 
establishment  of  some  great  counting  house  at  Venice. 
These  seem  prosaic  terms  to  use  in  a  story  so  full  of 
adventure  and  romance;  yet,  no  doubt,  they  represent, 
as  adequately  as  the  changed  aspect  of  mercantile  life 
allows,  the  condition  of  affairs  under  which  Niccolo  and 
Matteo  Polo  exercised  their  vocation  in  the  great  Eastern 
capital  of  the  world.  Many  Venetian  merchants  had 
established  their  warehouses  and  pursued  the  operations 
of  trade  in  Constantinople  in  the  security  which  the 
repeated  treaties  and  covenants  frequently  referred  to  in 
previous  chapters  had  gained  for  them,  and  which,  under 
whatsoever  risks  of  convulsion  and  rebellion,  they  had 
held  since  the  days  when  first  a  Venetian  Bailo — an  officer 
more  powerful  than  a  consul,  with  something  like  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  a  governor — was  settled  in  Con- 
stantinople. But  the  ordinary  risks  were  much  increased 
at  the  time  when  the  Latin  dynasty  was  drawing  near  its 
last  moments,  and  Paleologus  was  thundering  at  the 
gates.  The  Venetians  were  on  the  side  of  the  falling 
race;  their  constant  rivals,  the  Genoese,  had  taken  that 
of  the  rising;  and,  no  doubt,  the  position  was  irksome  as 
well  as  dangerous  to  those  who  had  been  the  favored 
nation,  and  once  the  conquerers  and  all-potent  rulers  of 
the  great  capital  of  the  East.  Many  of  the  bolder  spirits 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  115 

would,  no  doubt,  be  urged  to  take  an  active  part  in  the 
struggle  which  was  going  on;  but  its  effect  upon  Niccolo 
and  Matteo  Polo  was  different.  The  unsatisfactory  state 
of  affairs  prompted  them  to  carry  their  merchandise 
further  East,  where  they  had,  it  is  supposed,  already  the 
standing  ground  of  a  small  establishment  at  Soldachia,  on 
the  Crimean  peninsula.  Perhaps,  however,  it  is  going 
too  far  to  suppose  that  the  commotions  in  Constantinople, 
and  not  some  previously  arranged  expedition  with  milder 
motives,  determined  the  period  of  their  departure.  At 
all  events  the  dates  coincide. 

The  two  brothers  set  out  in  1260,  when  the  conflict  was 
at  its  height,  and  all  the  horrors  of  siege  and  sack  were 
near  at  hand.  They  left  behind  them,  it  would  appear,  an 
elder  brother  still  at  the  head  of  the  family  counting 
house  at  Constantinople,  and,  taking  with  them  an  easily 
carried  stock  of  jewels,  went  forth  upon  the  unknown  but 
largely  inhabited  world  of  Central  Asia,  full,  as  they  were 
aware,  of  wonders  of  primitive  manufacture,  carpets  and 
rich  stuffs,  ivory  and  spices,  furs  and  leather.  The  vast, 
dim  empires  of  the  East,  where  struggles  and  conquests 
had  been  going  on,  more  tremendous  than  all  the  wars  of 
Europe,  though  under  the  veil  of  distance  and  barbarism 
uncomprehended  by  the  civilized  world,  had  been  vaguely 
revealed  by  the  messengers  of  Pope  Innocent  IV.,  and 
had  helped  the  Crusaders  at  various  points  against  their 
enemies  the  Saracens.  But  neither  they  nor  their  coun- 
tries were  otherwise  known  when  these  two  merchants  set 
out.  They  plunged  into  the  unknown  from  Soldachia, 
crossing  the  Sea  of  Azof,  or  traveling  along  its  eastern 
shores,  and  working  their  way  slowly  onward,  sometimes 
lingering  in  the  tents  of  a  great  chief,  sometimes  arrested 
by  a  bloody  war  which  closed  all  passage,  made  their  way 
at  last  to  Bokhara,  where  all  further  progress  seemed  at 
an  end,  and  where  they  remained  three  years,  unable 
either  to  advance  or  to  go  back.  Here,  however,  they 
had  the  good  fortune  to  be  picked  up  by  certain  envoys 
on  their  way  to  the  court  of  "  the  Great  Khan,  the  lord 
of  all  the  Tartars  in  the  world  " — sent  by  the  victorious 
prince  who  had  become  master  of  the  Levant  to  that 
distant  and  mysterious  potentate.  These  ambassadors, 
astonished  to  see  the  Prankish  travelers  so  far  out  of 
the  usual  track,  invited  the  brothers  to  join  them,  assur- 


Il6  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

them  that  the  Great  Khan  had  never  seen  any  Latins, 
and  would  give  them  an  eager  welcome.  With  this  escort 
the  two  Venetians  traveled  far  into  the  depths  of  the 
unknown  land  until  they  reached  the  city  of  Kublai  Khan, 
that  great  prince  shrouded  in  distance  and  mystery,  whose 
name  has  been  appropriated  by  poets  and  dreamers;  but 
who  takes  immediate  form  and  shape,  in  the  brief  and 
abrupt  narrative  of  his  visitors,  as  a  most  courteous  and 
gentle  human  being,  full  of  endless  curiosity  and  interest 
in  all  the  wonders  which  these  sons  of  Western  civiliza- 
tion could  tell  him.  The  Great  Khan  received  them  with 
the  most  royal  courtesy,  and  questioned  them  closely 
about  their  laws  and  rulers,  and  still  more  about  their 
religion,  which  seems  to  have  excited  the  imagination  and 
pleased  the  judgment  of  this  calmly  impartial  inquirer. 
No  doubt  the  manners  and  demeanor  of  the  Venetians, 
devout  Catholics  in  all  the  fervor  habitual  to  their  age 
and  city,  recommended  their  faith.  So  much  interested 
indeed  was  the  Tartar  prince  that  he  determined  to  seek 
for  himself  and  his  people  more  authoritative  teaching,  and 
to  send  his  merchant  visitors  back  with  a  petition  to  this 
purpose  addressed  to  the  Pope.  No  more  important  mis- 
sion was  ever  intrusted  to  any  ambassadors.  They  were 
commissioned  to  ask  from  the  head  of  the  Church  a  hun- 
dred missionaries  to  convert  the  Tartar  multitudes  to 
Christianity.  These  were  to  be  wise  persons  acquainted 
with  the  "  Seven  Arts,"  well  qualified  to  discuss  and  con- 
vince all  men  by  force  of  reason  that  the  idols  whom  they 
worshiped  in  their  houses  were  things  of  the  devil,  and 
that  the  Christian  law  was  better  than  those,  all  evil  and 
false,  which  they  followed.  And  above  all,  adds  the 
simple  narrative,  "he  charged  them  to  bring  back  with 
them  some  of  the  oil  from  the  lamp  which  burns  before 
the  sepulcher  of  Christ  at  Jerusalem." 

The  letters  which  were  to  be  the  credentials  of  this 
embassy  were  drawn  out  "in  the  Turkish  language,"  in 
all  likelihood  by  the  Venetians  themselves,  and  a  Tartar 
chief,  "one  of  his  barons,"  was  commissioned  by  the 
Great  Khan  to  accompany  them;  he,  however,  soon 
shrank  from  the  fatigues  and  perils  of  the  journey.  The 
Poll  set  out,  carrying  with  them  a  royal  warrant  in- 
scribed on  a  tablet  of  gold,  commanding  all  men  wher- 
ever they  passed  to  serve  and  help  them  on  their  way. 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  117 

Notwithstanding  this,  it  took  them  three  years  of  travel, 
painful  and  complicated,  before  they  reached  Acre  on 
their  homeward — or  rather  Romeward — journey.  There 
they  heard,  to  their  consternation,  that  the  Pope  was 
dead.  This  was  terrible  news  for  the  ambassadors,  who 
doubtless  felt  the  full  importance  of  their  mission.  In 
their  trouble  they  appealed  to  the  highest  ecclesiastic 
near,  the  pontifical  legate  in  Egypt,  who  heard  their 
story  with  great  interest,  but  pointed  out  to  them  that 
the  only  thing  they  could  do  was  to  wait  till  a  new  Pope 
was  elected.  This  suggestion  seems  to  have  satisfied 
their  judgment,  although  the  conflict  over  that  election 
must  have  tried  any  but  a  very  robust  faith.  The  Poll 
then  concluded — an  idea  which  does  not  seem  to  have 
struck  them  before — that,  having  thus  certain  time  vacant 
on  their  hands,  they  might  as  well  employ  it  by  going  to 
see  their  family  in  Venice.  They  had  quitted  their  home 
apparently  some  fifteen  years  before,  Niccolo  having  left 
his  wife  there,  who  gave  birth  to  a  son  after  his  depar- 
ture and  subsequently  died.  Colonel  Yule  suggests  that 
the  wife  was  dead  before  Niccolo  left  Venice,  which 
would  have  given  a  certain  explanation  of  the  slight 
interest  he  showed  in  revisiting  his  native  city.  But  at 
all  events  the  brothers  went  home:  and  Niccolo  found 
his  child,  whether  born  in  his  absence  or  left  behind  an 
infant,  grown  into  a  sprightly  and  interesting  boy,  no 
doubt  a  delightful  discovery.  They  had  abundant  time 
to  renew  their  acquaintance  with  all  their  ancient  friends 
and  associations,  for  months  went  by  and  still  no  Pope 
was  elected,  nor  does  there  seem  to  have  been  any 
ecclesiastical  authority  to  whom  they  could  deliver  their 
letters.  Probably,  in  that  time,  any  enthusiasm  the  two 
traders  may  have  had  for  the  great  work  of  converting 
those  wild  and  wonderful  regions  of  the  East  had  died 
away.  Indeed,  the  project  does  not  seem  to  have  moved 
anyone,  save  to  a  passing  wonder;  and  all  ecclesiastical 
enterprises  were  apparently  suspended  while  conclave 
after  conclave  assembled  and  no  result  was  attained. 

At  length  the  brothers  began  to  tire  of  inaction,  and 
to  remember  that  through  all  those  years  of  silence 
Kublai  Khan  was  looking  for  them,  wondering  perhaps 
what  delayed  their  coming,  perhaps  believing  that  their 
return  home  had  driven  all  their  promises  from  their 


Il8  THE   MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

memory,  and  that  they  had  forgotten  him  and  his 
evangelical  desires.  Stirred  by  this  thought,  they  deter- 
mined at  last  to  return  to  their  prince,  and  setting  out, 
accompanied  by  young  Marco,  Niccolo's  son,  they  went 
to  Acre,  where  they  betook  themselves  once  more  to  the 
pious  legate,  Tebaldo  di  Piacenza,  whom  they  had  con- 
sulted on  their  arrival.  They  first  asked  his  leave  to  go 
to  Jerusalem  to  fetch  the  oil  from  the  holy  lamp,  the 
only  one  of  the  Great  Khan's  commissions  which  it 
seemed  possible  to  carry  out;  and  then,  with  some  fear 
apparently  that  their  word  might  not  be  believed,  asked 
him  to  give  them  letters,  certifying  that  they  had  done 
their  best  to  fulfill  their  errand,  and  had  failed  only  in 
consequence  of  the  strange  fact  that  there  was  no  Pope 
to  whom  their  letters  could  be  delivered.  Provided  with 
these  testimonials  they  started  on  their  long  journey, 
but  had  only  got  as  far  as  Lagos,  on  the  coast  of  the 
then  kingdom  of  Armenia,  which  was  their  point  of  en- 
trance upon  the  wild  and  immense  plains  which  they  had 
to  traverse,  when  the  news  followed  them  that  the  Pope 
was  at  last  elected,  and  was  no  other  than  their  friend, 
the  legate  Tebaldo.  A  messenger,  requesting  their  re- 
turn to  Acre,  soon  followed,  and  the  brothers  and  young 
Marco  returned  with  new  hopes  of  a  successful  issue  to 
their  mission.  But  the  new  Pope,  Gregory  X.,  though 
he  received  them  with  honor  and  great  friendship, 
had  not  apparently  a  hundred  wise  men  to  give  them, 
nor  the  means  of  sending  out  a  little  Christian  army 
to  the  conquest  of  heathenism.  All  that  he  could  do 
for  them  was  to  send  with  them  two  brothers  of  the 
order  of  St.  Dominic,  frati  predicatori,  to  do  what  they 
could  toward  that  vast  work.  But  when  the  Dominicans 
heard  that  war  had  broken  out  in  Armenia,  and  that  they 
had  to  encounter  not  only  a  fatiguing  journey  but  all  the 
perils  of  perpetual  fighting  along  their  route,  they  went 
no  further  than  that  port  of  Lagos  beyond  which  lay 
the  unknown.  The  letters  of  privilege — indulgences,  no 
doubt,  and  grants  of  papal  favor  to  be  distributed  among 
the  Tartar  multitude — they  transferred  hastily  to  the 
sturdy  merchants,  who  were  used  to  fighting  as  to  most 
other  dangerous  things,  and  had  no  fear,  and  ignomin- 
iously  took  their  flight  back  to  the  accustomed  and 
known. 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  119 

It  is  extraordinary,  looking  back  upon  it,  to  think  of 
the  easy  relinquishment  of  such  a  wonderful  chance  as 
this  would  seem  to  have  been.  Pope  and  priests  were 
all  occupied  with  their  own  affairs.  It  was  of  more 
importance  in  their  eyes  to  quell  the  Ghibellines  than  to 
convert  and  civilize  the  Tartars.  And  perhaps,  consider- 
ing that  even  an  infallible  Pope  is  but  a  man,  this  was 
less  wonderful  than  it  appears;  for  Kublai  Khan  was  a 
long  way  off,  and  very  dim  and  undiscernible  in  his 
unknown  steppes  and  strange  primeval  cities — whereas 
the  emperor  and  his  supporters  were  close  at  hand,  and 
very  sensible  thorns  in  consecrated  fle,sh.  It  seems 
somewhat  extraordinary,  however,  that  no  young  monk  or 
eager  preacher  caught  fire  at  the  suggestion  of  such  an 
undertaking.  Some  fifty  years  before  Fra  Francisco 
from  Assisi,  leaving  his  new  order  and  all  its  cares, 
insisted  upon  being  sent  to  the  Soldan  to  see  whether  he 
could  not  forestall  the  Crusaders  and  make  all  the  world 
one,  by  converting  that  noble  infidel — which  seemed  to 
him  the  straightforward  and  simple  thing  to  do.  If 
Francis  had  but  been  there  with  his  poor  brothers,  vowed 
to  every  humiliation,  the  lovers  of  poverty,  what  a  mis- 
sion for  them!  a  crusade  of  the  finest  kind,  with  every 
augury  of  success,  though  all  the  horrors  of  the  steppes, 
wild  winters  and  blazing  summers,  and  swollen  streams 
and  fighting  tribes,  lay  in  their  way.  And  had  the  hun- 
dred wise  men  ever  been  gathered  together,  what  a  pil- 
grimage for  minstrel  to  celebrate  and  story-teller  to 
write;  a  new  expedition  of  the  saints,  a  holier  Israel  in 
the  desert!  But  nothing  of  the  kind  came  about.  The 
two  papal  envoys,  who  had  been  the  first  to  throw  light 
upon  those  kingdoms  beyond  the  desert,  had  no  succes- 
sors in  the  later  half  of  the  century.  And  with  only 
young  Marco  added  to  their  band  the  merchant  brothers 
returned,  perhaps  a  little  ashamed  of  their  Christian 
rulers,  perhaps  chiefly  interested  about  the  reception 
they  would  meet  with,  and  whether  the  great  Kublai 
would  still  remember  his  luckless  ambassadors. 

The  journey  back  occupied  once  more  three  years  and 
a  half.  It  gives  us  a  strange  glimpse  into  the  long  inter- 
vals of  silence  habitual  to  primitive  life  to  find  that  these 
messengers,  without  means  of  communicating  any 
information  of  their  movements  to  their  royal  patron, 


120  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

were  more  than  eight  years  altogether  absent  on  the 
mission  from  which  they  returned  with  so  little  success. 
In  our  own  days  their  very  existence  would  probably 
have  been  forgotten  in  such  a  long  lapse  of  interest. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  holy  oil  from  the  sepulcher,  the 
only  thing  Christianity  could  send  to  the  inquiring 
heathen,  was  safely  kept,  in  some  precious  bottle  of 
earliest  glass  from  Murano,  or  polished  stone  less  brittle 
than  glass,  through  all  the  dangers  of  the  journey. 

Thus  the  Poli  disappeared  again  into  the  unknown  for 
many  additional  years.  Letters  were  not  rife  anywhere 
in  those  days,  and  for  them,  lost  out  of  the  range  of 
civilization,  though  in  the  midst  of  another  full  and  busy 
world — with  another  civilization,  art,  and  philosophy  of 
its  own — there  was  no  possibility  of  any  communication 
with  Venice  or  distant  friends.  It  is  evident  that  they 
sat  very  loose  to  Venice;  having  perhaps  less  personal 
acquaintance  with  the  city  than  most  of  her  merchant 
adventurers.  Niccolo  and  Matteo  must  have  gone  to 
Constantinople  while  still  young — and  Marco  was  but 
fifteen  when  he  left  the  lagoons.  They  had  apparently 
no  ties  of  family  tenderness  to  call  them  back,  and  cus- 
tom and  familiarity  had  made  the  strange  world  around, 
and  the  half  savage  tribes,  and  the  primitive  court  with 
its  barbaric  magnificence,  pleasant  and  interesting  ta 
them.  It  was  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  they 
appeared  out  of  the  unknown  again. 

By  that  time  the  Casa  Polo  in  San  Crisostomo  had 
ceased  to  think  of  its  absent  members.  In  all  likelihood 
they  had  no  very  near  relations  left.  Father  and  mother 
would  be  dead  long  ago;  the  elder  brother  lived  and  died 
in  Constantinople:  and  there  was  no  one  who  looked  with 
any  warm  expectation  for  the  arrival  of  the  strangers. 
When  there  suddenly  appeared  at  the  gate  of  the  great 
family  house,  full  of  cousins  and  kinsmen,  one  evening  in 
the  year  1295,  about  twenty-four  years  after  their  depar- 
ture, three  wild  and  travel-worn  figures,  in  coats  of  coarse 
homespun  like  those  worn  by  the  Tartars,  the  sheepskin 
collars  mingling  with  the  long  locks  and  beards  of  the 
wearers,  their  complexions  dark  with  exposure,  their  half 
forgotten  mother  tongue  a  little  uncertain  on  their  lips — 
who  could  believe  that  these  were  Venetian  gentlemen, 
members  of  an  important  family  in  the  city  which  had 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    BAND.  121 

forgotten  them?  The  three  unknown  personages  arrived 
suddenly,  without  any  warning,  at  their  ancestral  home. 
One  can  imagine  the  commotion  in  the  courtyard,  the 
curious  gazers  who  would  come  out  to  the  door,  the  heads 
that  would  gather  at  every  window,  when  it  became 
known  through  the  house  that  these  wild  strangers 
claimed  to  belong  to  it,  to  be  in  some  degree  its  masters, 
the  long  disappeared  kinsmen  whose  portion  perhaps  by 
this  time  had  fallen  into  hands  very  unwilling  to  let  it  go. 
The  doorway  which  still  exists  in  the  Corte  della  Sab- 
bionera,  in  the  depths  of  the  cool  quadrangle,  with  its 
arch  of  Byzantine  work,  and  the  cross  above  which  every 
visitor  in  Venice  may  still  see  when  he  will,  behind  San 
Crisostomo,  is,  as  tradition  declares,  the  very  door  at 
which  the  travelers  knocked  and  parleyed.  The  house 
was  then — according  to  the  most  authentic  account  we 
have,  that  of  Ramusio — un  bellissimo  e  molto  alto  palazzo. 
Absolute  authenticity  it  is  perhaps  impossible  to  claim  for 
the  story.  But  it  was  told  to  Ramusio,  who  flourished  in 
the  fifteenth  century,  by  an  old  man,  a  distinguished  citi- 
zen who,  and  whose  race,  had  been  established  for  gener- 
ations in  the  same  parish  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
Casa  Polo,  and  who  had  heard  it  from  his  predecessors 
there,  a  very  trustworthy  source  of  information.  The 
family  was  evidently  well  off  and  important,  and,  in  all 
probability,  noble.  "In  those  days,"  says  Colonel  Yule, 
making  with  all  his  learning  a  mistake  for  once,  "the 
demarcation  between  patrician  and  non-patrician  at 
Venice,  where  all  classes  shared  in  commerce,  all  were 
(generally  speaking)  of  one  race,  and  where  there  were 
neither  castles,  domains,  nor  trains  of  horsemen,  formed 
no  very  wide  gulf."  This  is  an  astounding  statement  to 
make  in  the  age  of  Bajamonte's  great  conspiracy;  but  as 
Marco  Polo  is  always  spoken  of  as  noble,  no  doubt  his 
family  belonged  to  the  privileged  class. 

The  heads  of  the  house  gathered  to  the  door  to  ques- 
tion the  strange  applicants,  "for,  seeing  them  so  trans- 
figured in  countenance  and  disordered  in  dress,  they 
could  not  believe  that  these  were  those  of  the  Ca'  Polo 
who  had  been  believed  dead  for  so  many  and  so  many 
years."  The  strangers  had  great  trouble  even  to  make 
it  understood  who  they  claimed  to  be.  "  But  at  last 
these  three  gentlemen  conceived  the  plan  of  making  a 


122  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

bargain  that  in  a  certain  time  they  should  so  act  as  to 
recover  their  identity  and  the  recognition  of  their  rela- 
tives, and  honor  from  all  the  city."  The  expedient 
they  adopted  again  reads  like  a  scene  out  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights."  They  invited  all  their  relatives  to  a  great 
banquet  which  was  prepared  with  much  magnificence 
"in  the  same  house,"  says  the  story-teller;  so  that  it  is 
evident  they  must  already  have  gained  a  certain  credence 
from  their  own  nearest  relations.  When  the  hour  fixed 
for  the  banquet  came,  the  following  extraordinary  scene 
occurred: 

The  three  came  out  of  their  chamber  dressed  in  long  robes  of  crimson 
satin,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  which  touched  the  ground. 
And  when  water  had  been  offered  for  their  hands,  they  placed  their 
guests  at  table,  and  then  taking  off  their  satin  robes  put  on  rich  damask 
of  the  same  color,  ordering  in  the  meanwhile  that  the  first  should  be 
divided  among  the  servants.  Then  after  eating  something  [no  doubt  a 
first  course],  they  rose  from  table  and  again  changed  their  dress,  putting 
on  crimson  velvet,  and  giving  as  before  the  damask  robes  to  the  servants, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  repast  they  did  the  same  with  the  velvet,  putting  on 
garments  of  ordinary  cloth  such  as  their  guests  wore.  The  persons 
invited  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment  at  these  proceedings.  And 
when  the  servants  had  left  the  hall,  Messer  Marco,  the  youngest,  rising 
from  the  table,  went  into  his  chamber  and  brought  out  the  three  coarse 
cloth  surcoats  in  which  they  had  come  home.  And  immediately  the 
three  began  with  sharp  knives  to  cut  open  the  seams,  and  tear  off  the 
lining,  upon  which  there  poured  forth  a  great  quantity  of  precious  stones — 
rubies,  sapphires,  carbuncles,  diamonds,  and  emeralds — which  had  been 
sewed  into  each  coat  with  great  care,  so  that  nobody  could  have  sus- 
pected that  anything  was  there.  For,  on  parting  with  the  Great  Khan, 
they  had  changed  all  the  wealth  he  bestowed  upon  them  into  precious 
stones,  knowing  certainly  that  if  they  had  done  otherwise  they  never 
could  by  so  long  and  difficult  a  road  have  brought  their  property  home 
in  safety.  The  exhibition  of  such  an  extraordinary  and  infinite  treasure 
of  jewels  and  precious  stones,  which  covered  the  table,  once  more  filled 
all  present  with  such  astonishment  that  they  were  dumb  and  almost  beside 
themselves  with  surprise;  and  they  at  once  recognized  these  honored  and 
venerated  gentlemen  of  the  Ca*  Polo,  whom  at  first  they  had  doubted, 
and  received  them  with  the  greatest  honor  and  reverence.  And  when 
the  story  was  spread  abroad  in  Venice,  the  entire  city,  both  nobles  and 
people,  rushed  to  the  house  to  embrace  them,  and  to  make  every  demon- 
stration of  loving-kindness  and  respect  that  could  be  imagined.  And 
Messer  Matteo,  who  was  the  eldest,  was  created  one  of  the  most  honored 
magistrates  of  the  city,  and  all  the  youth  of  Venice  resorted  to  the  house 
to  visit  Messer  Marco,  who  was  most  humane  and  gracious,  and  to  put 
questions  to  him  about  Cathay  and  the  Great  Khan,  to  which  he  made 
answer  with  so  much  benignity  and  courtesy  that  they  all  remained  his 
debtors.  And  because  in  the  continued  repetition  of  his  story  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  Great  Khan  he  stated  the  revenues  of  that  prince  to  be 
from  ten  to  fifteen  millions  in  gold,  and  counted  all  the  other  wealth  of 


122  •  •-'••    MA 

:.ain  time 

and  tho  of  their  rela- 

r   from  all    '  The   expedient 

igain  read«  lik^  *  scene  out  of  the  "  Arabian 

They   invited  all   their  relatives   to   a   great 

"vhich  w.-ts    ;.-!<-pared  with    much  magnificence 

ime  house-,"  says  the  story-teller;  so  that  it  is 

-.  they  mu*i  already  have  gained  a  certain  credence 

their  own  nearest  relations.     When  the  hour  fixed 

;e  banquet  came,  the  following  extraordinary  scene 

incurred: 

The  three  came  out  of  their  chamber  dress.-  ~>t  crimson 

satin,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  time,  which  touched  the  ground. 
And  when  water  had  been  offered  for  their  hai,  !   their 

guests  at  table,  ar.  u'ng  off  their  satin  rot 

of   the  same  color,  ••;     --.r<s  in  the  meanwhile  that  the  firsi  sh>. 
divided  among  »!••  Then  aft^r  eating  something  [no  doubt  a 

first  course],  the)  .-.*4e  and  again  i hanged  their  dress,  putting 

on  crimson  velvet .  •  the  •  •.« mask  robes  to  the  servants, 

and  at  the  end  nf  th<  'he  velvet,  putting  on 

garments  of  ordinary  guest*  ««re.      The  persons 

invited  were  struck  :eediui;s.     And 

A  CANAL  SCENE,  VENICE  sine 

from  the  table,  went  i: 
doth  surcoats  in  whi<_:; 

-£an  with  sharp  km- 

.  which  there  pou;:     , 
•vphires,  carbuncles,  diam 

each  coat  with  great  ear«j.  *• 
anything  was  there. 
-•:»gcd  all  the  wealth  ' 

.crtainly  that  if  they  ha<1  doa«  otherwise  they  never 

.tnd  difficult  a  road  have  brought  their  property  home 

n  of  such  an  extraordinary  and  infinite  treasure 

•.TICS,  which  covered  the  table,  once  more  filled 

•••nishment  that  they  were  di  imost  beside 

".',  and  they  at  once  re-  :icse  honored  and 

i  the  »'  a'  Polo,  whom  at  :.  ul  doubted, 

^   the  greatest  honor  and  reverence.     And  when 

•  road  in  Venice,  the  entire  city,  both  nobles  and 

<ase  to  em!>race  them,  and  to  make  every  demon- 

iess  and  r**pect  that  could  be  imagined.     And 

Meswr  tH»-  •>  the  eldest   was  created  one  of  the  most  honored 

•     ith  of  Venice  resorted  to  the  house 
yrbo  was  most  humane  and  gracious,  and  to  put 

quest  -h»jr  and  the-  Great  Khan,  to  which  he  made 

aniswe?  tuigiiity  and  courtesy  that  they  all  remained  hi* 

debtors.     ."*  .•ntinued  repetition  of  his  story  o 

grandeur  ot  \.han  h«  stated  the  revenues  of  that  : 

from  ten  to  -.n  gold,  and  counted  all  the  otln. 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  123 

the  country  always  in  millions,  the  surname  was  given  him  of  Marco 
Millione,  which  may  be  seen  noted  in  the  public  books  of  the  republic. 
And  the  courtyard  of  his  house,  from  that  time  to  this,  has  been  vulgarly 
called  the  Corte  Millione. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  to  imagine  that  the  narrator  of 
the  above  wonderful  story  was  not  inspired  by  the  keenest 
humorous  view  of  human  nature  and  perception  of  the 
character  of  his  countrymen  when  he  so  gravely  describes 
the  effectual  arguments  which  lay  in  the gioie preciosissime — 
the  diamonds  and  sapphires  which  his  travelers  had 
sewed  up  in  their  old  clothes — and  which,  according  to 
all  the  laws  of  logic,  were  exactly  fitted  to  procure  their 
recognition  "as  honored  and  venerated  gentlemen  of 
the  Ca'  Polo."  The  scene  is  of  a  kind  which  has  always 
found  great  acceptance  in  primitive  romance:  the  cutting 
asunder  of  the  laden  garments,  the  ripping  up  of  their 
seams,  the  drawing  forth  of  one  precious  little  parcel 
after  another  amid  the  wonder  and  exclamations  of  the 
gazing  spectators,  are  all  familiar  incidents  in  tradition- 
ary story.  But  in  the  present  case  this  was  a  quite 
reasonable  and  natural  manner  of  conveying  the  accumu- 
lations of  a  long  period  through  all  the  perils  of  a  three- 
years'  journey  from  far  Cathay;  and  there  is  nothing  at 
all  unlikely  in  the  miraculous  story,  which,  no  doubt, 
would  make  a  great  impression  upon  the  crowded  sur- 
rounding population,  and  linger,  an  oft-repeated  tale,  in 
the  alleys  about  San  Giovanni  Crisostomo  and  along  the 
Rio,  where  everybody  knew  the  discreet  and  sensible 
family  which  had  the  wit  to  recognize  and  fall  upon  the 
necks  of  their  kinsmen,  as  soon  as  they  knew  how  rich 
they  were.  The  other  results  that  ensued — the  rush  of 
golden  youth  to  see  and  visit  Marco,  who,  though  no 
longer  young,  was  the  young  man  of  the  party,  and  their 
questions,  and  the  jeer  of  the  new,  mocking  title,  Marco 
Millione — follow  the  romance  with  natural  human  incred- 
ulity and  satire  and  laughter.  It  is  true,  and  proved  by 
at  least  one  public  document,  that  the  gibe  grew  into 
serious  use,  and  that  even  the  gravest  citizens  forgot 
after  a  time  that  Marco  of  the  Millions  was  not  the 
traveler's  natural  and  sober  name.  There  was  at  least 
one  other  house  of  the  Poll  in  Venice,  and  perhaps  there 
were  other  Marcos  from  whom  it  was  well  to  distinguish 
him  of  San  Crisostomo. 


124  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

It  would  seem  clear  enough,  however,  from  this,  that 
these  travelers'  tales  met  with  the  fate  that  so  often 
attends  the  marvelous  narratives  of  an  explorer.  Marco's 
Great  Khan,  far  away  in  the  distance  as  of  another  world ; 
the  barbarian  purple  and  gold  of  Kublai's  court;  the  great 
cities  out  of  all  mortal  ken,  as  the  young  men  in  their 
mirth  supposed;  the  incredible  wonders  that  peopled  that 
remote  and  teeming  darkness,  which  the  primitive  imagi- 
nation could  not  believe  in  as  forming  part  of  its  own 
narrow  little  universe — must  have  kept  one  generation  at 
teast  in  amusement.  No  doubt  the  sunbrowned  traveler 
had  all  that  desire  to  instruct  and  surprise  his  hearers 
which  came  natural  to  one  who  knew  so  much  more  than 
they,  and  was  capable  of  being  endlessly  drawn  out  by 
any  group  of  young  idlers  who  might  seek  his  company. 
They  would  thread  their  way  through  the  labyrinth  of 
narrow  passages  with  all  their  mediaeval  bravery,  flashing 
along  in  parti-colored  hose  and  gold-embroidered  doublets 
on  their  way  from  the  Broglio  to  get  a  laugh  out  of 
Messer  Marco — who  was  always  so  ready  to  commit  him- 
self to  some  new  prodigy. 

But  after  a  while  the  laugh  died  out  in  the  grave  troubles 
that  assailed  the  republic.  The  most  dreadful  war  that 
had  ever  arisen  between  Venice  and  Genoa  had  raged  for 
some  time,  through  various  vicissitudes,  when  the  city  at 
last  determined  to  send  out  such  an  expedition  as  should 
at  once  overwhelm  all  rivalry.  This  undertaking  stirred 
every  energy  among  the  population,  and  both  men  and 
money  poured  in  for  the  service  of  the  commonwealth. 
There  may  not  be  any  authentic  proof  of  Colonel  Yule's 
suggestion  that  Marco  Polo  fitted  out,  or  partially  fitted 
out,  one  of  the  boats,  and  mounted  his  own  flag  at  the 
masthead  when  it  went  into  action.  But  the  family  were 
assessed  at  the  value  of  one  or  more  galleys,  and  he  was 
certainly  a  volunteer  in  the  fleet;  a  defender  of  his 
country  in  the  terrible  warfare  which  was  draining  all  her 
resources.  The  battle  of  Curzola  took  place  in  Septem- 
ber, 1298,  and  it  ended  in  a  complete  and  disastrous 
defeat  for  the  Venetians.  Of  the  ninety-seven  galleys 
which  sailed  so  bravely  out  of  Venice,  only  seventeen 
miserable  wrecks  found  refuge  in  the  shelter  of  the 
lagoons,  and  the  admiral  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
survivors,  men  shamed  and  miserable,  were  carried  pris- 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  125 

oners  to  Genoa  with  every  demonstration  of  joy  and 
triumph.  The  admiral,  as  has  already  been  said,  was 
chained  to  his  own  mast  in  barbarous  exultation,  but 
managed  to  escape  from  the  triumph  of  his  enemies  by 
dashing  his  head  against  the  timber,  and  dying  thus  be- 
fore they  reached  port. 

Marco  Polo  was  among  the  rank  and  file  who  do  not 
permit  themselves  such  luxuries.  Among  all  the  won- 
derful things  he  had  seen,  he  could  never  have  seen  a 
sight  at  once  so  beautiful  and  so  terrible  as  the  great 
semicircle  of  the  Bay  of  Genoa,  crowded  with  the  exultant 
people,  gay  with  every  kind  of  decoration,  and  resound- 
ing with  applause  and  excitement  when  the  victorious 
galleys  with  their  wretched  freight  sailed  in.  No  doubt 
in  the  Tartar  wastes  he  had  longed  many  a  time  for  inter- 
course with  his  fellows,  or  even  to  see  the  face  of  some 
compatriot  or  Christian  amid  all  the  dusky  faces  and 
barbaric  customs  of  the  countries  he  had  described.  But 
now  what  a  revelation  to  him  must  have  been  the  wild 
passion  and  savage  delight  of  those  near  neighbors,  with 
but  the  width  of  a  European  peninsula  between  them,  and 
so  much  hatred,  rancor,  and  fierce  antagonism!  Prob- 
ably, however,  Marco,  having  been  born  to  hate  the 
Genoese,  was  occupied  by  none  of  these  sentimental 
reflections;  and  knowing  how  he  himself  and  all  his 
countrymen  would  have  cheered  and  shouted  had  Doria 
been  the  victim  instead  of  Dandolo,  took  his  dungeon 
and  chains,  and  the  intoxication  of  triumph  with  which 
he  and  his  fellow-prisoners  were  received,  as  matters  of 
course. 

He  lay  for  about  a  year,  as  would  appear,  in  this 
Genoese  prison;  and  here,  probably  for  the  first  time, 
his  endless  tales  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen  and  known 
first  fulfilled  the  blessed  office  of  story-telling,  and  became 
to  the  crowded  prison  a  fountain  of  refreshment  and  new 
life.  To  all  these  unfortunate  groups — wounded,  sick, 
especially  sick  for  home,  humiliated  and  forlorn,  with 
scarcely  anything  wanting  to  complete  the  round  of 
misery — what  a  solace  in  the  tedium  of  the  dreary  days, 
what  a  help  to  get  through  the  lingering  time,  and  forget 
their  troubles  for  a  moment,  must  have  been  this  com- 
panion, burned  to  a  deeper  brown  than  even  Venetian 
suns  and  seas  could  give,  whose  memory  was  inexhaast- 


126  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

ible;  who  day  by  day  had  another  tale  to  tell;  who  set 
1  before  them  new  scenes,  new  people,  a  great,  noble, 
open-hearted  monarch,  and  all  the  quaint  habits  and 
modes  of  living,  not  of  one,  but  of  a  hundred  tribes  and 
nations,  all  different,  endless,  original!  All  the  poor 
expedients  to  make  the  time  pass,  such  games  as  they 
might  have,  such  exercises  as  were  possible,  even  the 
quarrels  which  must  have  risen  to  diversify  the  flat  and 
tedious  hours,  could  bear  no  comparison  with  this  fresh 
source  of  entertainment,  the  continued  story  carried  on 
from  day  to  day,  to  which  the  cramped  and  weary  prisoner 
might  look  forward  as  he  stretched  his  limbs  and  opened 
his  eyes  to  a  new,  unwelcome  morning.  If  anyone  among 
these  prisoners  remembered  then  the  satire  of  the 
golden  youth,  the  laughing  nickname  of  the  Millione,  he 
had  learned  by  that  time  what  a  public  benefactor  a  man 
is  who  has  something  to  tell;  and  the  traveler,  who  per- 
haps had  never  found  out  how  he  had  been  laughed  at, 
had  thus  the  noblest  revenge. 

Among  all  these  wounded,  miserable  Venetians,  how- 
ever, there  was  one  whose  presence  there  was  of  more 
immediate  importance  to  the  world — a  certain  Pisan,  an 
older  inhabitant  than  they  of  these  prisons,  a  penniless 
derelict,  forgotten  perhaps  of  his  own  city,  with  nobody 
to  buy  him  out — Rusticiano,  a  poor  poetaster,  a  rusty 
brother  of  the  pen,  who  had  written  romances  in  his  day, 
and  learned  a  little  of  the  craft  of  authorship.  What  a 
wonderful  treasure  was  this  fountain  of  strange  story  for 
a  poor  mediaeval  literary  man  to  find  in  his  dungeon! 
The  scribbler  seems  to  have  seized  at  once  by  instinct 
upon  the  man  who  for  once  in  his  life  could  furnish  him 
with  something  worth  telling.  Rusticiano  saw  his 
opportunity  in  a  moment,  with  an  exultation  which  he 
could  not  keep  to  himself.  It  was  not  in  his  professional 
nature  to  refrain  from  a  great  fanfare  and  flourish,  calling 
upon  heaven  and  earth  to  listen.  "  Signori  imperatori  e  re, 
due  hi  e  mar  chest,  conti,  cavalieri,  principi,  baroni"  he  cries 
out,  as  he  did  in  his  romances.  "Oh,  emperors  and  kings, 
oh,  dukes,  princes,  marquises,  barons  and  cavaliers,  and 
all  who  delight  in  knowing  the  different  races  of  the 
world,  and  the  variety  of  countries,  take  this  book  and 
read  it!  "  This  was  the  proper  way,  according  to  all  his 
rules,  to  present  himself  to  the  public.  He  makes  his  bow 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  12? 

to  them  like  a  showman  in  front  of  his  menagerie.  He 
knows,  too,  the  language  in  which  to  catch  the  ear  of  all 
these  fine  people,  so  that  every  noble  may  desire  to  have 
a  copy  of  this  manuscript  to  cheer  his  household  in  the 
lingering  winter,  or  amuse  the  poor  women  at  their 
embroidery  while  the  men  are  at  the  wars.  For,  accord- 
ing to  all  evidence,  what  the  prisoner  of  Pisa  took  down 
from  the  lips  of  the  Venetian  in  the  dungeons  of  Genoa 
was  written  by  him  in  curious  antique  French,  corrupted 
a  little  by  Italian  idioms,  the  most  universal  of  all  the 
languages  of  the  Western  world.  Nothing  can  be  more 
unlike  than  those  flourishes  of  Rusticiano  by  way  of 
preface,  and  the  simple  strain  of  the  unvarnished  tale 
when  Messer  Marco  himself  begins  to  speak.  And  the 
circumstance  of  these  two  Italians  employing  another 
living  language  in  which  to  tell  their  wonderful  story  is 
so  curious  that  many  other  theories  have  been  set  forth 
on  the  subject,  though  none  which  are  accepted  by  the 
best  critics  as  worthy  of  belief.  One  of  the  earliest  of 
these,  Ramusio,  pronounces  strongly  in  favor  of  a  Latin 
version.  Marco  had  told  his  stories  over  and  over  again, 
this  historian  says,  with  such  effect  that  "  seeing  the  great 
desire  that  everybody  had  to  hear  about  Cathay  and  the 
Great  Khan,  and  being  compelled  to  begin  again  every 
day,  he  was  advised  that  it  would  be  well  to  commit  it  to 
writing" — which  was  done  by  the  dignified  medium  of  a 
Genoese  gentleman,  who  took  the  trouble  to  procure  from 
Venice  all  the  notes  which  the  three  travelers  had  made 
of  their  journeys;  and  then  compiled  in  Latin,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  learned,  a  continuous  narrative. 
But  the  narrative  itself  and  everything  that  can  be  dis- 
covered about  it  are  wholly  opposed  to  this  theory. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  notes  worked 
into  a  permanent  record.  The  story  has  evidently  been 
taken  down  from  the  lips  of  a  somewhat  discursive 
speaker,  with  all  the  breath  and  air  in  it  of  oral  discourse. 
"This  is  enough  upon  that  matter;  now  I  will  tell  you 
of  something  else."  "Now  let  us  leave  the  nation  of 
Mosul  and  I  will  tell  you  about  the  great  city  of  Baldoc." 
So  the  tale  goes  on,  with  interruptions,  with  natural 

goings  back — "  But  first  I  must  tell  you "     "  Now  we 

will  go  on  with  the  other."  While  we  read  we  seem  to 
sit,  one  of  the  eager  circle,  listening  to  the  story  of  these 


128  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

wonderful,  unknown  places,  our  interest  quickened  here 
and  there  by  a  legend — some  illustration  of  the  prolonged 
conflict  between  heathen  and  Christian,  or  the  story  of 
some  prodigy  accomplished;  now  that  of  a  grain  of 
mustard-seed  which  the  Christians  were  defied  to  make 
into  a  tree,  now  a  curious  Eastern  version  of  the  story  of 
the  Three  Magi.  These  episodes  have  all  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  ordinary  legend;  but  the  plain  and  simple 
story  of  what  Messer  Marco  saw  and  heard,  and  the  ways 
of  the  unknown  populations  among  whom  he  spent  his 
youth,  are  like  nothing  but  what  they  are — a  narrative  of 
facts,  with  no  attempt  to  throw  any  fictitious  interest  or 
charm  about  them.  No  doubt  the  prisoners  liked  the 
legends  best,  and  the  circle  would  draw  closer,  and  the 
looks  become  more  eager,  when  the  story  ran  of  Prester 
John  and  Genghis  Khan,  of  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain, 
or  of  how  the  Calif  tested  the  faith  of  the  Christians. 
When  all  this  began  to  be  committed  to  writing,  when 
Rusticiano  drew  his  inkhorn,  and  pondered  his  French, 
with  a  splendor  of  learning  and  wisdom  which  no  doubt 
appeared  miraculous  to  the  spectators,  and  the  easy 
narrative  flowed  on  a  sentence  at  a  time,  with  half  a 
dozen  eager  critics  ready,  no  doubt,  to  remind  the  raconteur 
if  he  varied  a  word  of  the  often  told  tale,  what  an  interest 
for  that  melancholy  crowd!  How  they  must  have  peered 
over  each  other's  shoulders  to  see  the  miraculous  manu- 
script, with  a  feeling  of  pleased  complacency  as  of  a 
wonderful  thing  in  which  they  themselves  had  a  hand! 
No  doubt  it  was  cold  in  Genoa  in  those  sunless  dungeons, 
the  weary  winter  through;  but  so  long  as  Messer  Marco 
went  on  with  his  stories  and  he  of  Pisa  wrote,  with  his 
professional  artifices,  and  his  sheet  of  vellum  on  his  knee, 
what  endless  entertainment  to  beguile  dull  care  away! 

The  captivity  lasted  not  more  than  a  year,  and  our 
traveler  returned  home,  to  where  the  jest  still  lingered 
about  the  man  with  the  millions,  and  no  one  mentioned 
him  without  a  smile.  He  would  not  seem  to  have  dis- 
turbed himself  about  this — indeed,  after  that  one  appear- 
ance as  a  fighting  man,  with  its  painful  consequences,  he 
would  seem  to  have  retired  to  his  home  as  a  peaceful 
citizen,  and  awoke  no  echoes  any  more.  He  might  per- 
haps be  discouraged  by  the  reception  his  tale  had  met 
with,  even  though  there  is  no  evidence  of  it;  or  perhaps 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  129 

that  tacit  assent  to  a  foolish  and  wrong  popular  verdict, 
which  the  instructors  of  mankind  so  often  drop  into,  with 
a  certain  indulgent  contempt  as  of  a  thing  not  worth 
their  while  to  contend  against,  was  in  his  mind,  who 
knew  so  much  better  than  his  critics.  At  all  events  it  is 
evident  that  he  did  nothing  more  to  bring  himself  to  the 
notice  of  the  world.  It  was  in  1299  that  he  returned  to- 
Venice — on  the  eve  of  all  those  great  disturbances  con- 
cerning the  Serrata  of  the  Council,  and  of  the  insurrec- 
tion which  shook  the  republic  to  its  foundation.  But  in 
all  this,  Marco  of  the  Millions  makes  no  appearance. 
He  who  had  seen  so  much,  and  to  whom  the  great  Kublai 
was  the  finest  of  imperial  images,  most  likely  looked  on 
with  an  impartiality  beyond  the  reach  of  most  Venetians, 
at  the  internal  strife,  knowing  that  revolutions  come 
and  go,  while  the  course  of  human  life  runs  on  much 
the  same.  And  besides,  Marco  was  noble,  and  lost  no 
privilege,  probably  indeed  sympathized  with  the  effort  to 
keep  the  canaille  down. 

He  married  in  these  peaceful  years,  in  the  obscurity  of 
a  quiet  life,  and  had  three  daughters  only,  Faustina, 
Bellela,  and  Moretta;  no  son  to  keep  up  the  tradition  of 
the  adventurous  race,  a  thing  which  happens  so  often 
when  a  family  has  come  to  its  climax  and  can  do  no 
more.  He  seems  to  have  kept  up  in  some  degree  his 
commercial  character,  since  there  is  a  record  of  a  law- 
suit for  the  recovery  of  some  money  of  which  he  had 
been  defrauded  by  an  agent.  But  only  once  does  he 
appear  in  the  character  of  an  author  responsible  for  his 
own  story.  Attached  to  two  of  the  earliest  manuscript 
copies  of  his  great  book,  one  preserved  in  Paris  and  the 
other  in  Berne,  are  MS.  notes,  apparently  quite  authentic, 
recording  the  circumstances  under  which  he  presented  a 
copy  of  the  work  to  a  noble  French  cavalier  who  passed 
through  Venice  while  in  the  service  of  Charles  of  Valois 
in  the  year  1307.  The  note  is  as  follows: 

This  is  the  book  of  which  my  Lord  Thiebault,  Knight  and  Lord  of 
Cepoy  (whom  may  God  assoil !),  requested  a  copy  from  Sire  Marco  Polo, 
citizen  and  resident  in  the  City  of  Venice.  And  the  said  Sire  Marco 
Polo,  being  a  very  honorable  person  of  high  character  and  report  in 
many  countries,  because  of  his  desire  that  what  he  had  seen  should  be 
heard  throughout  the  world,  and  also  for  the  honor  and  reverence  he 
bore  to  the  most  excellent  and  puissant  Prince,  my  Lord  Charles,  son. 
of  the  King  of  France,  and  Count  of  Valois,  gave  and  presented  to  the 


I3O  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

aforesaid  Lord  of  Cepoy  the  first  copy  of  his  said  book  that  was  made 
after  he  had  written  it.  And  very  pleasing  it  was  to  him  that  his  book 
should  be  carried  to  the  noble  country  of  France  by  so  worthy  a  gentle- 
men. And  from  the  copy  which  the  said  Messire  Thiebault,  Sire  de 
Cepoy  above  named,  carried  into  France,  Messire  John,  who  was  his 
eldest  son  and  is  the  present  Sire  de  Cepoy,  had  a  copy  made  after  his 
father's  death,  and  the  first  copy  of  the  book  that  was  made  after  it  was 
brought  to  France  he  presented  to  his  very  dear  and  dread  Lord,  Mon- 
seigneur  de  Valois  ;  and  afterward  to  his  friends  who  wished  to  have 
it.  .  .  This  happened  in  the  year  of  the  Incarnation  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  one  thousand  three  hundred  and  seven,  and  in  the  month  of 
August. 

This  gives  a  pleasant  opening  through  the  mist  of 
obscurity  which  had  fallen  over  the  Ca'  Polo.  If  Messer 
Marco  was  illustrious  enough  to  be  sought  out  by  a 
young  stranger  of  Thiebault's  rank  and  pretensions,  then 
his  labors  had  not  been  without  their  reward.  It  is 
possible,  however,  that  the  noble  visitor  might  have  been 
taken  to  see  one  of  the  amusing  personages  of  the  city, 
and  with  the  keenness  of  an  accustomed  eye  might 
have  found  out  for  himself  that  Messer  Marco  of  the 
Millions  was  no  braggart,  but  a  remarkable  man  with  a 
unique  history.  In  any  case,  the  note  is  full  of  interest. 
One  can  imagine  how  the  great  traveler's  eye  and  his 
heart  would  brighten  when  he  saw  that  the  noble  French- 
man understood  and  believed,  and  how  he  would  turn 
from  the  meaning  smile  and  mock  respect  of  his  own 
countrymen  to  the  intelligent  interests  of  the  newcomer 
who  could  discriminate  between  truth  and  falsehood. 
"  Et  moult  lui  estoit  agreable  quant  par  si preudomme  estoit 
avanciez  et  portez  es  nobles  parties  de  France" 

The  final  record  of  his  will  and  dying  wishes  is  the  only 
other  document  that  belongs  to  the  history  of  Marco  Polo. 
He  made  this  will  in  January,  1323,  "finding  myself  to 
grow  daily  weaker  through  bodily  ailment,  but  being  by 
the  grace  of  God  of  sound  mind,  and  senses  and  judg- 
ment unimpaired,"  and  distributing  his  money  among  his 
wife  and  daughters,  whom  he  constitutes  his  executors, 
and  various  uses  of  piety  and  charity.  He  was  at  this 
time  about  sixty-nine,  and  it  is  to  be  supposed  that  his 
death  took  place  shortly  after — at  least  that  is  the  last 
we  know  of  him.  His  father,  who  had  died  many  years 
before,  had  been  buried  in  the  atrio  of  San  Lorenzo, 
where  it  is  to  be  supposed  Messer  Marco  also  was  laid: 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  131 

but  there  is  no  certainty  in  this  respect.  He  disappears 
altogether  from  the  time  his  will  is  signed,  and  all  his 
earthly  duties  done. 

It  is  needless  here  to  enter  into  any  description  of  his 
travels.  Their  extent  and  the  detailed  descriptions  he 
gives  at  once  of  the  natural  features  of  the  countries,  and 
of  their  manners  and  customs,  give  them,  even  to  us,  for 
whose  instruction  so  many  generations  of  travelers  have 
labored  since,  a  remarkable  interest;  how  much  more  to 
those  to  whom  that  wonderful  new  world  was  as  a  dream! 
The  reason  why  he  observed  so  closely,  and  took  so  much 
pains  to  remember  everything  he  saw,  is  very  character- 
istically told  in  the  book  itself.  The  young  Venetian  to 
whom  the  Great  Khan  had,  no  doubt,  been  held  up  during 
the  three  years'  long  journey  as  an  object  of  boundless 
veneration;  whose  favor  was  the  sum  of  existence  to  his 
father  and  uncle;  observed  that  potentate  and  his  ways, 
when  they  reached  their  destination,  with  the  usual  keen 
inspection  of  youth.  He  perceived  the  secret  of  the 
charm  which  had  made  these  Latin  merchants  so  dear  to 
Prince  Kublai,  in  the  warm  and  eager  interest  which  he 
took  in  all  the  stories  that  could  be  told  him  of  other 
countries  and  their  government,  and  the  habits  of  their 
people.  The  young  man  remarked  that  when  ambassa- 
dors to  the  neighboring  powers  came  back  after  discharg- 
ing their  mission,  the  prince  listened  with  impatience  to 
the  reports  which  contained  a  mere  account  of  their 
several  errands  and  nothing  else,  saying  that  it  would 
have  pleased  him  more  to  have  heard  news  of  all  they 
had  seen,  and  a  description  of  unknown  or  strange  cus- 
toms which  had  come  under  their  observation.  Young 
Marco  laid  the  lesson  to  heart,  and  when  he  was  sent 
upon  an  embassy,  as  soon  happened,  kept  his  eyes  about 
him,  and  told  the  monarch  on  his  return  all  the  strange 
things  he  had  seen,  and  whatever  he  heard  that  was 
marvelous  or  remarkable;  so  that  all  who  heard  him 
wondered,  and  said,  "If  this  youth  lives  he  will  be  a  man 
of  great  sense  and  worth."  It  is  evident  throughout  the 
book  that  the  Venetians  were  no  mere  mercenaries,  but 
had  a  profound  regard  and  admiration  for  the  great, 
liberal,  friendly  monarch,  who  had  received  them  so 
kindly  and  lent  so  ready  an  ear  to  all  they  could  tell, 
and  that  young  Marco  had  grown  up  in  real  affection  and 


132  THE   MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

sympathy  for  his  new  master.  Indeed,  as  we  read,  we 
recognize,  through  all  the  strangeness  and  distance,  a 
countenance  and  person  entirely  human  in  this  half  sav- 
age Tartar,  and  find  him  no  mysterious  voluptuary  like 
the  Kublai  Khan  of  the  poet,  but  a  cordial,  genial, 
friendly  human  being,  glad  to  know  about  all  his  fellow 
creatures,  whoever  they  might  be,  taking  the  most  whole- 
some friendly  interest  in  everything,  ready  to  learn  and 
eager  to  know.  One  wonders  what  he  thought  of  the 
slackness  of  the  Christian  powers  who  would  send  no 
men  to  teach  him  the  way  of  salvation;  of  the  shrinking 
of  the  teachers  themselves  who  were  afraid  to  dare  the 
dangers  of  the  way:  and  what  of  that  talisman  they  had 
brought  him,  the  oil  from  the  holy  lamp,  which  he  had 
received  with  joy.  It  was  to  please  him  that  Marco 
made  his  observations,  noting  everything — or  at  least, 
no  doubt  the  young  ambassador  believed  that  his  sole 
object  was  to  please  his  master  when  he  followed  the 
characteristic  impulses  of  his  own  inquisitive  and  ob- 
servant intelligence. 

Since  his  day  the  world  then  unknown  has  opened  up 
its  secrets  to  many  travelers,  the  geographer,  the  ex- 
plorer, and  those  whose  study  lies  among  the  differences 
of  race  and  the  varieties  of  humanity.  The  curious,  the 
wise,  the  missionary,  and  the  merchant,  every  kind  of 
visitor  has  essayed  in  his  turn  to  lift  the  veil  from  those 
vast  spaces  and  populations  and  to  show  us  the  bound- 
less multitudes  and  endless  deserts,  which  lay,  so  to 
speak,  outside  the  world  for  centuries,  unknown  to  this 
active  atom  of  a  Europe,  which  has  monopolized  civiliza- 
tion for  itself;  but  none  of  them,  with  all  the  light  of 
centuries  of  accumulated  knowledge,  have  been  able  to 
give  Marco  Polo  the  lie.  Colonel  Yule,  his  last  exponent 
in  England,  is  no  enthusiast  for  Marco.  He  speaks,  we 
think  without  reason,  of  his  "hammering  reiteration," 
his  lack  of  humor,  and  many  other  characteristic  nine- 
teenth-century objections.  But  when  all  is  done,  here  is 
the  estimate  which  this  impartial  critic  makes  of  him  and 
his  work: 

Surely  Marco's  real,  indisputable,  and  in  their  kind  unique,  claims  to 
glory  may  suffice.  He  was  the  first  traveler  to  trace  a  route  across  the 
whole  longitude  of  Asia,  naming  and  describing  kingdom  after  kingdom 
which  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  :  the  deserts  of  Persia,  the  flower- 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  133 

ing  plateaus  and  wild  gorges  of  Beloochistan,  the  jade-bearing  rivers  of 
Khotan,  the  Mongolian  steppes,  cradle  of  the  power  which  had  so  lately 
threatened  to  swallow  up  Christendom  ;  the  new  and  brilliant  court  that 
had  been  established  at  Cambaluc  ;  the  first  traveler  to  reveal  China  in 
all  its  wealth  and  vastness,  its  mighty  ruins,  its  huge  cities,  its  rich  manu- 
factures, its  swarming  population,  the  inconceivably  vast  fleets  that 
quickened  its  seas  and  its  inland  waters  ;  to  tell  us  of  the  nations  on  its 
borders,  with  all  their  eccentricities  of  manners  and  worship  :  of  Thibet 
with  its  sordid  devotees,  of  Burmah  with  its  golden  pagodas  and  their 
tinkling  crowns,  of  Caos,  of  Siam,  of  Cochin-China,  of  Japan,  the 
Eastern  Thule,  with  its  rosy  pearls  and  golden-roofed  palaces  ;  the  first 
to  speak  of  that  museum  of  beauty  and  wonder,  the  Indian  Archipelago, 
source  of  the  aromatics  then  so  prized  and  whose  origin  was  so  dark  ;  of 
Java,  the  pearl  of  islands  :  of  Sumatra,  with  its  many  kings,  its  strange 
costly  products,  and  its  cannibal  races  ;  of  the  naked  savage  of  Nicobar 
and  Andaman ;  of  Ceylon,  the  isle  of  gems,  with  its  sacred  mountain 
and  its  tomb  of  Adam  ;  of  India  the  great,  not  as  a  dreamland  of  Alex- 
andrian fables,  but  as  a  country  seen  and  partially  explored,  with  its 
virtuous  Brahmins,  its  obscure  ascetics,  its  diamonds  and  the  strange 
tales  of  their  acquisition,  its  seabeds  of  pearls,  and  its  powerful  sun  ;  the 
first  in  mediaeval  times  to  give  any  distinct  account  of  the  secluded 
Christian  empire  of  Abyssinia,  and  the  semi-Christian  isle  of  Socotra  ;  to 
speak,  though  indeed  dimly,  of  Zanzibar  with  its  negroes  and  its  ivory, 
and  of  the  vast  and  distant  Madagascar  bordering  on  that  dark  ocean  of 
the  south,  and  in  a  remotely  opposite  region,  of  Siberia  and  the  Arctic 
Ocean,  of  dog  sledges,  white  bears,  and  reindeer-riding  Tunguses. 

We  get  to  the  end  of  this  sentence  with  a  gasp  of  ex- 
hausted breath.  But  though  it  may  not  be  an  example 
of  style  (in  a  writer  who  has  no  patience  with  our  Marco's 
plainer  diction)  it  is  a  wonderful  rtsumt  of  one  man's 
work,  and  that  a  Venetian  trader  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury. His  talk  of  the  wonders  he  had  seen,  which 
amused  and  pleased  the  lord  of  all  the  Tartars  in  the 
world,  and  charmed  the  dreary  hours  of  the  prisoners  in 
the  dungeons  of  Genoa — an  audience  so  different — is  here 
for  us  as  it  came  from  his  lips  in  what  we  may  well  be- 
lieve to  be  the  selfsame  words,  with  the  same  breaks  and 
interruptions,  the  pauses  and  digressions  which  are  all  so 
natural.  The  story  is  so  wonderful  in  its  simplicity  of 
spoken  discourse  that  it  is  scarcely  surprising  to  know 
that  the  Venetian  gallants  jeered  at  the  Man  of  the 
Millions;  but  it  is  still  full  of  interest,  a  book  not  to  be 
despised  should  it  ever  be  the  reader's  fate  to  be  shut  up 
in  any  dungeon,  or  in  a  desolate  island,  or  other  enforced 
seclusion.  And  not  all  the  flood  of  light  that  has  been 
poured  since  upon  these  unknown  lands,  not  the  progress 
of  science  or  evolution,  or  any  great  development  of  the 


134  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

last  six  hundred  years,  has  proved  Messer  Marco  to  have 
been  less  than  trustworthy  and  true. 

Meanwhile  the  archway  in  the  Corte  della  Sabbionera, 
in  its  crowded  corner  behind  San  Crisostomo,  is  all  that 
remains  in  Venice  of  Marco  Polo.  He  has  his  (imaginary) 
bust  in  the  loggia  of  the  Ducal  Palace,  along  with  many 
another  man  who  has  less  right  to  such  a  distinction,  but 
even  his  grave  is  unknown.  He  lies  probably  at  San 
Lorenzo  among  the  nameless  bones  of  his  fathers,  but 
even  the  monument  his  son  erected  to  Niccolo  has  long 
ago  disappeared.  The  Casa  Polo  is  no  more:  the  name 
extinct,  the  house  burned  down  except  that  corner  of  it. 
It  would  be  pleasant  to  see  restored  to  the  locality  at 
least  the  name  of  the  Corte  Millione,  in  remembrance  of 
all  the  wonders  he  told,  and  of  the  gibe  of  the  laughing 
youths  to  whom  his  marvelous  tales  were  first  unfolded; 
and  thus  to  have  Kublai  Khan's  millions  once  more 
associated  with  his  faithful  ambassador's  name. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A    POPULAR   HERO. 

ABOUT  seventy  years  after  the  events  above  recorded, 
in  the  latter  half  of  the  fourteenth  century,  there 
occurred  a  crisis  in  the  life  of  the  Venetian  republic  of  a 
more  alarming  and  terrible  character  than  had  ever  been 
caused  before  by  misfortunes  external  or  internal.  Since 
those  early  times  when  the  fugitive  fathers  of  the  state 
took  refuge  in  the  marshes  and  began  to  raise  their 
miraculous  city  out  of  the  salt  pools  and  mud-banks,  that 
corner  of  the  Adriatic  had  been  safe  from  all  external 
attacks.  A  raid  from  Aquileia,  half  ecclesiastical,  half 
warlike,  had  occurred  by  times  in  early  days,  threatening 
Grado  or  even  Torcello,  but  nothing  which  it  gave  the 
city  any  trouble  to  overcome.  The  Greek,  with  all  his 
wiles,  had  much  ado  to  keep  her  conquering  galleys  from 
his  coasts,  and  lost  island  after  island  without  a  pos- 
sibility of  reprisals.  The  Dalmatian  tribes  kept  her  in 
constant  irritation  and  disturbance,  yet  were  constrained 
over  and  over  again  to  own  her  mistress  of  the  sea,  and 
never  affected  her  home  sovereignty.  The  Turk  himself, 
the  most  appalling  of  invaders,  though  his  thunders  were 
heard  near  enough  to  arouse  alarm  and  rage,  never  got 
within  sight  of  the  wonderful  city.  It  was  reserved  for 
her  sister  republic,  born  of  the  same  mother,  speaking 
the  same  language,  moved  by  the  same  instincts,  Genoa, 
from  the  other  side  of  the  peninsula,  the  rival,  from  her 
cradle,  of  the  other  seaborn  state,  to  make  it  possible,  if 
but  for  one  moment,  that  Venice  might  cease  to  be. 
This  was  during  the  course  of  the  struggle  called  by  some 
of  the  chroniclers  the  fourth,  by  others  the  seventh, 
Genoese  war — a  struggle  as  causeless  and  as  profitless  as 
all  the  wars  between  the  rivals  were;  resulting  in  endless 
misery  and  loss  to  both,  but  nothing  more.  The  war 
in  question  arose  nominally,  as  they  all  did,  from  one  of 
the  convulsions  which  periodically  tore  the  Empire  of 
the  East  asunder,  and  in  which  the  two  trading  states,  the 


136  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

rival  merchants,  seeking  every  pretense  to  push  their 
traffic,  instinctively  took  different  sides.  On  the  present 
occasion  it  was  an  Andronicus  who  had  dethroned  and 
imprisoned  his  father,  as  on  a  former  occasion  it  had  been 
an  Alexius.  Venice  was  on  the  side  of  the  injured  father, 
Genoa  upon  that  of  the  usurping  son — an  excellent  reason 
for  flying  at  each  other's  throats  wherever  that  was  prac- 
ticable, and  seizing  each  other's  stray  galleys  on  the  high 
seas,  when  there  was  no  bigger  fighting  on  hand.  It  is 
curious  to  remark  that  the  balance  of  success  was  with 
Genoa  in  the  majority  of  these  struggles,  although  that 
state  was  neither  so  great  nor  so  consistently  independent 
as  that  of  Venice.  Our  last  chapter  recorded  the  com- 
plete and  ignominious  rout  of  the  great  Venetian  squadron 
in  which  Marco  Polo  was  a  volunteer,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  century;  and  seventy  years  later  (1379)  the  fortune 
of  war  was  still  the  same.  In  distant  seas  the  piracies 
and  lesser  triumphs  of  both  powers  maintained  a  sort  of 
wavering  equality;  but  when  it  came  to  a  great  engage- 
ment Genoa  had  generally  the  upper  hand. 

The  rival  republic  was  also  at  this  period  re-enforced  by 
many  allies.  The  Carrarese,  masters  of  Padua  and  all 
the  rich  surrounding  plains,  the  nearest  neighbors  of 
Venice,  afterward  her  victims,  had  joined  the  league 
against  her.  So  had  the  King  of  Hungary,  a  hereditary 
foe,  ever  on  the  watch  to  snatch  a  Dalmatian  city  out  of 
the  grip  of  Venice;  and  the  Patriarch  of  Aquileia,  a  great 
ecclesiastical  prince,  who  from  generation  to  generation 
never  seems  to  have  forgiven  the  withdrawal  of  Venice 
from  his  sway  and  the  erection  of  Grado  into  a  rival 
primacy.  This  strong  league  against  her  did  not  at  first 
daunt  the  proud  republic,  who,  collecting  all  her  forces, 
sent  out  a  powerful  expedition,  and  so  long  as  the  war 
went  on  at  a  distance  regarded  it,  if  not  without  anxiety, 
yet  with  more  wrath  than  fear.  But  when  Vittore  Pisani, 
the  beloved  admiral  in  whose  prowess  all  Venice  believed, 
was  defeated  at  Pola,  a  thrill  of  alarm  ran  through  the 
city,  shortly  to  be  raised  into  the  utmost  passion  of  fear. 
Pisani  himself  and  a  few  of  his  captains  escaped  from  the 
rout,  which  was  so  complete  that  the  historian  records 
"almost  all  the  Venetian  sea  forces"  to  have  been 
destroyed.  Two  thousand  prisoners,  Sabellico  tells, 
were  taken  by  the  Genoese,  and  the  entire  fleet  cut  to 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  137 

pieces.  When  the  beaten  admiral  arrived  in  Venice  he 
met  what  was  in  those  days  the  usual  fate  of  a  defeated 
leader,  and  was  thrown  into  prison;  but  not  on  this 
occasion  with  the  consent  of  the  populace,  who  loved 
him,  and  believed  that  envy  on  the  part  of  certain  power- 
ful persons,  and  not  any  fault  of  his,  was  the  occasion  of 
his  condemnation.  After  this  a  continued  succession  of 
misfortunes  befell  the  republic.  What  other  ships  she 
had  were  away  in  Eastern  seas,  and  the  authorities  seem 
to  have  been  for  the  moment  paralyzed.  Town  after 
town  was  taken.  Grado  once  more  fell  into  the  power  of 
that  pitiless  patriarch;  and  the  Geno'ese  held  the  mastery 
of  the  Adriatic.  The  Venetians,  looking  on  from  the 
Lido,  saw  with  eyes  that  almost  refused  to  believe  such 
a  possibility,  with  tears  of  rage  and  shame,  one  of  their 
own  merchantmen  pursued  and  taken  by  the  Genoese, 
and  plundered  and  burned  while  they  looked  on,  within  a 
mile  of  the  shore.  The  enemy  took  Pelestrina;  they 
took  part  of  Chioggia,  burning  and  sacking  everywhere; 
then  sailed  off  triumphant  to  the  turbulent  Zara,  which 
they  had  made  their  own,  dragging  the  Venetian  banners 
which  they  had  taken  at  Pola  through  the  water  as  they 
sailed  triumphantly  away.  The  Venetian  Senate,  stung 
to  the  quick,  attempted,  it  would  seem,  to  raise  another 
fleet;  but  in  vain,  the  sailors  refusing  to  inscribe  them- 
selves under  any  leader  but  Pisani.  A  few  vessels  were 
with  difficulty  armed  to  defend  the  port  and  Lido,  upon 
which  hasty  fortifications,  great  towers  of  wood,  were 
raised,  with  chains  drawn  across  the  navigable  channels 
and  barges  sunk  to  make  the  watery  ways  impassable. 
When,  however,  the  enemy,  returning  and  finding  the 
coast  without  defense,  recaptured,  one  after  another,  the 
Venetian  strongholds  on  the  west  side  of  the  Adriatic, 
and  finally  took  possession  in  force  of  Chioggia,  the 
populace  took  up  the  panic  of  their  rulers. 

When  the  fall  of  Chioggia  was  known,  which  was  toward  midnight, 
the  city  being  taken  in  the  morning,  there  arose  such  a  terror  in  the 
Palace  that  as  soon  as  day  dawned  there  was  a  general  summons  to  arms, 
and  from  all  quarters  the  people  rushed  toward  the  Piazza.  The  court 
and  square  were  crowded  with  the  multitude  of  citizens.  The  news  of 
the  taking  of  Chioggia  was  then  published  by  order  of  the  Senate,  upon 
which  there  arose  such  a  cry  and  such  lamentations  as  could  not  have 
been  greater  had  Venice  itself  been  lost.  The  women  throughout  the 
city  went  about  weeping,  now  raising  their  arms  to  heaven,  now  beating 


138  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

upon  their  breasts  ;  the  men  stood  talking  together  of  the  public  mis- 
fortune, and  that  there  was  now  no  hope  of  saving  the  republic,  but  that 
the  entire  dominion  would  be  lost.  They  mourned  each  his  private  loss, 
but  still  more  the  danger  of  losing  their  freedom.  All  believed  that  the 
Genoese  would  press  on  at  once,  overrun  all  the  territory,  and  destroy 
the  Venetian  name  ;  and  they  held  consultations  how  to  save  their 
possessions,  money,  and  jewels,  whether  they  should  send  them  to 
distant  places,  or  hide  them  underground  in  the  monasteries.  All  joined 
in  this  lamentation  and  panic,  and  many  believed  that  if  in  this  moment 
of  terror  the  enemy's  fleet  had  pressed  on  to  the  city,  either  it  would 
have  fallen  at  once  or  would  have  been  in  the  greatest  danger. 

"But,"  adds  Sabellico  piously,  "God  does  not  show 
everything  to  one  man.  Many  know  how  to  win  a  battle, 
but  not  how  to  follow  up  the  victory."  This  fact,  which 
has  stood  the  human  race  in  stead  at  many  moments  of 
alarm,  saved  Venice.  The  Genoese  did  not  venture  to 
push  their  victory;  but  their  presence  at  Chioggia,  espe- 
cially in  view  of  their  alliance  with  Carrara  at  Padua,  was 
almost  as  alarming.  The  Venetian  ships  were  shut  out 
from  the  port,  the  supplies  by  land  equally  interrupted; 
only  from  Treviso  could  any  provisions  reach  the  city, 
and  the  scarcity  began  at  once  to  be  felt.  Worse,  how- 
ever, than  any  of  the  practical  miseries  which  surrounded 
Venice  was  the  want  of  a  leader  or  anyone  in  whom  the 
people  could  trust.  The  doge  was  Andrea  Contarini,  a 
name  to  which  much  of  the  fame  of  the  eventual  success 
has  been  attributed,  but  it  does  not  seem  in  this  terrible 
crisis  to  have  inspired  the  public  mind  with  any  confi- 
dence. After  the  pause  of  panic,  and  the  troubled 
consultations  of  this  moment  of  despair,  one  thought 
suddenly  seized  the  mind  of  Venice.  "Finally  all  con- 
cluded that  in  the  whole  city  there  was  but  one  Pisani, 
and  that  he,  who  was  dear  to  all,  might  still  secure  the 
public  safety  in  this  terrible  and  dangerous  crisis." 
That  he  should  lie  in  prison  and  in  darkness,  this  man 
whose  appearance  alone  would  give  new  heart  to  the 
city!  There  was  a  general  rush  toward  the  Palazzo  when 
this  thought  first  burst  into  words  and  flew  from  one  to 
another.  The  Senate,  unable  to  resist,  notwithstanding 
"the  envy  of  certain  nobles,"  conceded  the  prayer  of 
the  people.  And  here  for  a  moment  the  tumultuous  and 
complicated  story  pauses  to  give  us  a  glimpse  of  the  man 
che  ad  ognuno  era  molto  caro,  as  the  historian,  impressed 
by  the  universal  sentiment,  assures  us  again  and  again. 


BY    SEA    AND   BY    LAND.  139 

The  whole  population  had  assembled  in  the  Piazza,  to 
receive  him: 

But  so  great  was  his  modesty  that  he  preferred  to  remain  for  this 
night  in  the  prison,  where  he  begged  that  a  priest  might  be  sent  to  him, 
and  confessed,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  day  went  out  into  the  court,  and  to 
the  church  of  San  Niccolo,  where  he  received  the  precious  Sacrament  of 
the  Host,  in  order  to  show  that  he  had  pardoned  every  injury  both  public 
and  private  ;  and  having  done  this  he  made  his  appearance  before  the 
Prince  and  the  Signoria.  Having  made  his  reverence  to  the  Senate,  not 
with  angry  or  even  troubled  looks,  but  with  a  countenance  glad  and  joy- 
ful, he  placed  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  doge,  who  thus  addressed  him: 
"  On  a  former  occasion,  Vittore,  it  was  our  business  to  execute  justice; 
it  is  now  the  time  to  grant  grace.  It  was  commanded  that  you  should 
be  imprisoned  for  the  defeat  of  Pola;  now  we  will  that  you  should  be 
set  free.  We  will  not  inquire  if  this  is  a  just  thing  or  not,  but  leaving 
the  past,  desire  you  to  consider  the  present  state  of  the  republic  and  the 
necessity  for  preserving  and  defending  it,  and  so  to  act  that  your  fellow- 
citizens,  who  honor  you  for  your  great  bearing,  may  owe  to  you  their 
safety,  both  public  and  private."  Pisani  made  answer  in  this  wise: 
"  There  is  no  punishment,  most  serene  Prince,  which  can  come  to  me 
from  you  or  from  the  others  who  govern  the  republic  which  I  should 
not  bear  with  a  good  heart,  as  a  good  citizen  ought.  I  know,  most 
serene  Prince,  that  all  things  are  done  for  the  good  of  the  republic,  for 
which  I  do  not  doubt  all  your  counsels  and  regulations  are  framed.  As 
for  private  grievances,  I  am  so  far  from  thinking  that  they  should  work 
harm  to  anyone  that  I  have  this  day  received  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and 
been  present  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice,  that  nothing  may  be  more  evident 
than  that  I  have  forever  forgotten  to  hate  any  man.  .  .  As  for  what  you 
say  inviting  me  to  save  the  republic,  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  obey 
it,  and  will  gladly  endeavor  to  defend  her,  and  God  grant  that  I  may  be 
he  who  may  deliver  her  from  peril,  by  whatsoever  way,  with  my  best 
thought  and  care,  for  I  know  that  the  will  shall  not  be  wanting."  With 
these  words  he  embraced  and  kissed  the  Prince  with  many  tears, 
and  so  went  to  his  house,  passing  through  the  joyful  multitude,  and 
accompanied  by  the  entire  people. 

It  may  afford  some  explanation  of  the  low  ebb  to  which 
Venice  had  come  at  this  crisis,  that  not  even  now  was 
Pisani  appointed  to  the  first  command,  and  it  was  only 
after  another  popular  rising  that  the  invidia  d'alcuni  nobili 
was  finally  defeated,  and  he  was  put  in  his  proper  place 
as  commander  of  the  fleet.  When  this  was  accomplished 
the  sailors  enlisted  in  such  numbers  that  in  three  days 
six  galleys  were  fully  equipped  to  sail  under  the  beloved 
commander,  along  with  a  great  number  of  smaller  vessels, 
such  as  were  needful  for  the  narrow  channels  about 
Chioggia,  only  navigable  by  light  flat-bottomed  boats 
and  barges.  A  few  successes  fell  to  Pisani's  share  at 
first,  which  raised  the  spirits  of  the  Venetians,  and  another 


140  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

fleet  of  forty  galleys  was  equipped,  commanded  by  the 
doge  himself,  in  the  hope  of  complete  victory.  But  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  city,  once  so  rich, 
could  get  together  money  enough  to  prepare  these  arma- 
ments; and  poverty  and  famine  were  in  her  streets, 
deserted  by  all  the  able-bodied  and  left  to  the  fear  and 
melancholy  anticipations  of  the  weaker  part  of  the  popu- 
lation. To  meet  this  emergency  the  Senate  published  a 
proclamation  holding  out  to  all  who  would  furnish  money 
or  ships  or  men,  the  prize  of  admission  into  the  Great 
Council,  offering  that  much-coveted  promotion  to  thirty 
new  families  from  among  the  most  liberal  citizens,  and 
promising  to  the  less  wealthy  or  less  willing  interest  for 
their  money,  five  thousand  ducats  to  be  distributed 
among  them  yearly.  "  Many  moved  by  the  hope  of  such 
a  dignity,  some  also  for  love  of  their  country,"  says 
Sabellico,  came  forward  with  their  offerings,  no  less  than 
sixty  families  thus  distinguishing  themselves;  and  many 
fine  deeds  were  done.  Among  others  there  is  mention 
made  of  a  once  rich  Chioggiote,  Matteo  Fasnolo  by  name, 
who,  having  lost  everything,  presented  himself  and  his 
two  sons,  all  that  was  left  to  him,  to  give  their  lives  for 
the  republic. 

The  rout  of  Pola  took  place  in  March,  1379;  in  August 
the  Genoese  took  possession  of  Chioggia  and  sat  down  at 
the  gates  of  Venice.  It  was  as  if  the  mouth  of  the  Thames 
had  been  in  possession  of  an  assailant  of  London,  with 
this  additional  misfortune,  that  the  country  behind,  the 
storehouse  and  supply  on  ordinary  occasions  of  the  city, 
was  also  in  the  possession  of  her  enemies.  How  it  came 
about  that  Pisani  with  his  galleys  and  innumerable  barks, 
and  the  doge  with  his  great  fleet,  did  next  to  nothing 
against  these  bold  invaders,  it  seems  impossible  to  tell. 
The  showers  of  arrows  with  which  they  harassed  each 
other,  the  great  wooden  towers  erected  on  both  sides,  for 
attack  and  defense,  were,  no  doubt,  very  different  from 
anything  that  armies  and  fleets  have  trusted  in  since  the 
days  of  artillery.  But  with  all  these  disadvantages  it 
seems  wonderful  that  this  state  of  affairs  should  languish 
on  through  the  winter  months — then  universally  con- 
sidered a  time  for  rest  in  port  and  not  for  action  on  the 
seas — without  any  result.  A  continual  succession  of 
little  encounters,  sallies  of  the  Genoese,  assaults  of  the 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  141 

besiegers,  sometimes  ending  in  a  trifling  victory,  some- 
times only  adding  to  the  number  of  the  nameless  sufferers 
— the  sailors  sweating  at  the  oars,  the  bowmen  on  the 
deck — went  on  for  month  after  month.  The  doge's  fleet, 
according  to  one  account,  went  back  every  night  to 
Venice;  the  men  sleeping  at  home  and  returning  to  their 
hopeless  work  every  day,  with  it  may  be  supposed,  but 
little  heart  for  it.  And  not  only  their  enemies  but  all 
the  evils  of  the  season,  cold  and  snow  and  storm,  fought 
against  the  Venetians.  Sometimes  they  would  be  driven 
apart  by  the  tempestuous  weather,  losing  sight  of  each 
other,  occasionally  even  coming  to  disastrous  shipwreck; 
and  lovely  as  are  the  lagoons  under  most  aspects,  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  dreary  and  miser- 
able than  the  network  of  slimy  passages  among  the 
marshes,  and  the  gray  wastes  of  sea  around,  in  the  mists 
and  chill  of  December,  and  amid  the  perpetual  failures 
and  defeats  of  an  ever  unsuccessful  conflict.  Want  grew 
to  famine  in  Venice,  her  supplies  being  stopped  and  her 
trade  destroyed;  and  even  the  rich  plebeians,  who  had 
strained  their  utmost  to  benefit  their  country  and  gain 
the  promised  nobility,  began  to  show  signs  of  exhaustion, 
and  "  the  one  Pisani,"  in  whom  the  city  had  placed  such 
entire  confidence, — though,  wonderfully  enough,  he  does 
not  seem  to  have  lost  his  hold  upon  the  popular  affec- 
tions,— had  not  been  able  to  deliver  his  country.  In 
these  circumstances  the  eyes  of  all  began  to  turn  with 
feverish  impatience  to  another  captain,  distant  upon  the 
high  seas,  after  whom  the  Senate  had  dispatched  message 
after  message,  to  call  him  back  with  his  galleys  to  the  help 
of  the  republic.  He  was  the  only  hope  that  remained  in 
the  dark  mid-winter;  when  all  their  expedients  failed 
them,  and  all  their  efforts  proved  unsuccessful,  there 
remained  still  a  glimmer  of  possibility  that  all  might  go 
well  if  Carlo  were  but  there. 

Carlo  Zeno,  the  object  of  this  last  hope,  at  the  moment 
careering  over  the  seas  at  the  head  of  an  active  and  dar- 
ing little  fleet,  which  had  been  engaged  in  making  reprisals 
upon  the  Genoese  coasts,  carrying  fire  and  flame  along 
the  eastern  Riviera — and  which  was  now  fighting  the 
battles  of  Venice  against  everything  that  bore  the  flag  of 
Genoa,  great  or  small — was  a  man  formed  on  all  the  an- 
cient traditions  of  the  republic,  a  soldier,  a  sailor,  a  mer- 


142  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

chant,  adventurer,  and  orator,  a  born  leader  of  men.  Of 
the  house  of  Zeno,  his  mother  a  Dandolo,  no  better  blood  is 
in  the  Golden  Book  (not  then,  however,  in  existence)  than 
that  which  ran  in  his  veins;  and  his  adventurous  life  and 
career  were  most  apt  to  fire  the  imagination  and  delight 
the  popular  fancy.  His  father  had  died,  a  kind  of  martyr 
for  the  faith,  in  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  Smyrna, 
when  Carlo  was  but  seven  years  old.  He  was  then  sent 
to  the  Pope  at  Avignon,  who  endowed  the  orphan  with  a 
canonicate  at  Patras,  apparently  a  rich  benefice.  But  the 
boy  was  not  destined  to  live  the  peaceful  life  of  an  eccle- 
siastical dignitary.  He  passed  through  the  stormy  youth 
which  in  those  days  was  so  often  the  beginning  of  a  heroic 
career — ran  wild  at  Padua,  where  he  was  sent  to  study, 
lost  all  that  he  had  at  play,  and  having  sold  even  his 
books,  enlisted,  as  would  appear,  in  some  troop  of  free 
lances,  in  which  for  five  years  he  was  lost  to  his  friends, 
but  learned  the  art  of  war,  to  his  great  after  profit  and 
the  good  of  his  country.  When,  after  having  roamed  all 
Italy  through,  he  reappeared  in  Venice,  his  family,  it  is 
probable,  made  little  effort  to  prevent  the  young  trooper 
from  proceeding  to  Greece  to  take  up  his  canon's  stall, 
for  which,  no  doubt,  these  wanderings  had  curiously  pre- 
pared him.  His  biography,  written  by  his  grandson, 
Jacopo,  Bishop  of  Padua,  narrates  all  the  incidents  of 
his  early  life  in  full  detail.  At  Patras,  the  adventurous 
youth,  then  only  twenty-two,  was  very  soon  placed  in  the 
front  during  the  incessant  wars  with  the  Turks,  which 
kept  that  remote  community  in  perpetual  turmoil — and 
managed  both  the  strategy  of  war  and  the  arts  of  states- 
manship with  such  ability  that  he  obtained  an  honorable 
peace  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  enemy  on  the  payment 
of  a  certain  indemnity.  However  great  may  be  the 
danger  which  is  escaped  in  this  way,  there  are  always 
objectors  who  consider  that  better  terms  might  have  been 
made.  "Human  nature,"  says  Bishop  Jacopo,  "is  a 
miserable  thing,  and  virtue  always  finds  enemies,  nor  was 
anything  ever  so  well  done  but  envy  found  means  of  spoil- 
ing and  misrepresenting  it."  Carlo  did  not  escape  this 
common  fate,  and  the  Greek  Governor,  taking  part  with 
his  adversaries,  deprived  him  of  his  canonicate.  Highly 
indignant  at  this  affront,  the  angry  youth  threw  up 
"  various  other  ecclesiastical  dignities,"  which  we  are  told 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  143 

he  possessed  in  various  parts  of  Greece;  whereupon  his 
life  took  an  aspect  much  more  harmonious  with  his  char- 
acter and  pursuits.  "  Fortune,"  says  our  bishop,  "  never 
forsakes  him  who  has  a  great  soul.  There  was  in  Chia- 
renza  a  noble  lady  of  great  wealth,  who  having  heard  of 
Carlo's  achievements,  and  marveling  at  the  greatness  of 
his  spirit,  conceived  a  desire  to  have  him  for  her  husband. 
And  Carlo,  being  now  free  from  the  ecclesiastical  yoke, 
was  at  liberty  to  take  a  wife,  and  willingly  contracted 
matrimony  with  her."  This  marriage,  however,  was  not 
apparently  of  very  long  duration,  for  scarcely  had  he 
cleared  himself  of  all  the  intrigues  against  him,  when  his 
wife  died,  leaving  him  as  poor  as  before.  "Her  death, 
which,  as  was  befitting,  he  lamented  duly,  did  him  a  double 
injury,  for  he  lost  his  wife  and  her  wealth  together,  her 
property  consisting  entirely  of  feoffs,  which  fell  at  her 
death  to  the  Prince  of  Achaia. "  This  misfortune  changed 
the  current  of  his  life.  He  returned  to  Venice,  and  after 
a  proper  interval  married  again,  a  lady  of  the  house  of 
Giustiniani.  "  Soon  after,  reflecting  that  in  a  maritime 
country  trade  is  of  the  highest  utility,  and  that  it  was 
indeed  the  chief  sustenance  of  his  city,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  adopt  the  life  of  a  merchant;  and  leaving  Venice 
with  this  intention,  remained  seven  years  absent,  living 
partly  in  a  castle  called  Tanai  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Tanai,  and  partly  in  Constantinople." 

Such  had  been  the  life,  full  of  variety  and  experience, 
of  the  man  to  whom  the  eyes  of  Venice  turned  in  her 
humiliation.  He  had  been  all  over  Italy  in  his  youth, 
during  that  wild  career  which  carried  him  out  of  the 
view  of  his  family  and  friends.  He  had  been  even 
further  afield  in  France,  Germany,  and  England,  in  a 
short  episode  of  service  under  the  Emperor  Charles  IV., 
between  two  visits  alia  sua  chiesa  di  Patrasso.  He  had 
fought  the  Turks  and  led  the  armaments  of  Achaia  dur- 
ing his  residence  at  his  canonicate;  and  now,  all  these 
tumults  over,  resettled  into  the  natural  position  of  a 
Venetian,  with  a  Venetian  wife  and  all  the  traditions  of 
his  race  to  shape  his  career;  had  taken  to  commerce, 
peacefully,  so  far  as  the  time  permitted,  in  those  golden 
lands  of  the  East  where  it  was  the  wont  of  his  country- 
men to  make  their  fortunes.  And  success,  it  would 
appear,  had  not  forsaken  chi  ha  Vanima  grande,  the  man 


144  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

of  great  mind — for  when  he  reappeared  in  Venice  it  was 
with  a  magnificence  of  help  to  the  republic  which  only  a 
man  of  wealth  could  give.  He  was  still  engaged  in  peace- 
ful occupations  when  war  broke  out  between  Genoa  and 
Venice.  Carlo  had  already  compromised  himself  by  an 
attempt  to  free  the  dethroned  emperor,  and  had  been 
in  great  danger  in  Constantinople,  accused  before  the 
Venetian  governor  of  treasonable  practices,  and  only 
•saved  by  the  arrival  of  the  great  convoy  from  Venice 
"  which  reached  Constantinople  every  year,"  and  in  which 
he  had  friends.  Even  at  this  time  he  is  said  to  have  had 
soldiers  in  his  service,  probably  for  the  protection  of  his 
trade  in  the  midst  of  the  continual  tumults;  and  his  his- 
torian declares  that  no  sooner  had  he  escaped  from  Con- 
stantinople than  he  began  to  act  energetically  for  the 
republic ;  securing  to  Venice  the  wavering  allegiance  of  the 
island  of  Tenedos,  from  which  the  Venetian  galleys  under 
his  (part)  command  chased  off  the  emissaries  of  the  em- 
peror, and  where  a  Venetian  garrison  was  installed.  His 
first  direct  action  in  the  service  of  the  state,  however, 
would  seem  to  have  been  that  sudden  raid  upon  the 
Genoese  coast  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  war,  to  which  we 
have  referred,  with  the  purpose  of  making  a  diversion  and, 
if  possible,  calling  back  to  the  defense  of  their  own  city  the 
triumphant  armies  of  Genoa.  This  intention,  however, 
was  not  carried  out  by  the  result,  though  otherwise  the 
expedition  was  so  successful  that  "the  name  of  Carlo 
Zeno,"  says  his  historian,  writing  more  than  a  hundred 
years  after,  "  is  terrible  to  that  city  even  to  the  present 
day."  After  this  exploit  he  seems  to  have  returned  to 
the  east,  per  nettare  la  mare,  sweeping  the  sea  clear  of 
every  Genoese  vessel  that  came  in  his  way,  and  calling 
at  every  rebellious  port  with  much  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  these  engagements  the  news  of  the  de- 
feat at  Pola  did  not  reach  him  till  long  after  the  event, 
and  even  the  messengers  dispatched  by  the  Senate,  one 
boat  after  another,  failed  to  find  the  active  and  unwearied 
seaman  as  he  swept  the  seas.  Such  a  ubiquitous  career — 
now  here,  now  there,  darting  from  one  point  to  another 
with  a  celerity  which  was  a  marvel  in  those  days  of  slow 
sailing  and  long  pauses,  and  the  almost  invariable  success 
which  seemed  to  attend  him — gave  Carlo  a  singular  charm 
to  the  popular  imagination.  No  one  was  more  successful 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  145 

at  sea,  no  one  half  so  successful  on  land  as  this  leader, 
suddenly  improvised  by  his  own  great  deeds  in  the  very 
moment  of  need,  whose  adventures  had  given  him  experi- 
ence of  everything  that  the  mediaeval  world  knew,  and 
who  had  the  special  gift  of  his  race  in  addition  to  every- 
thing else — the  power  of  the  orator  over  a  people  specially 
open  to  that  influence.  Sanudo  says  that  Carlo  at  first 
refused  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  Senate,  preferring 
to  nettar  la  mare  to  that  more  dangerous  work  of  dislodg- 
ing the  Genoese  from  Chioggia.  But  there  would  seem  to 
be  no  real  warrant  for  this  assertion.  The  messengers 
were  slow  to  reach  him.  They  arrived  when  his  hands 
were  still  full  and  when  it  was  difficult  to  give  immediate 
obedience;  and  when  he  did  set  out  to  obey,  a  strong 
temptation  fell  in  his  way  and  for  a  time  delayed  his 
progress.  This  was  a  great  ship  from  Genoa,  the  descrip- 
tion of  which  is  like  that  of  the  galleons  which  tempted 
Drake  and  his  brother  mariners.  It  was  grande  oltre 
misura,  a  bigger  ship  than  had  ever  been  seen,  quite 
beyond  the  habits  and  dimensions  of  the  time,  laden  with 
wealth  of  every  kind,  and  an  enormous  crew,  "for 
besides  the  sailors  and  the  bowmen  it  carried  two  hundred 
Genoese,  each  of  whom  was  a  senator  or  the  son  of  a 
senator."  It  was  winter,  and  the  great  vessel  was  more 
at  home  on  the  high  seas  than  the  navigli  leggieri  with 
which  our  hero  had  been  flying  from  island  to  island. 
The  sight  of  that  nimble  fleet  filled  the  Genoese  com- 
mander with  alarm;  and  he  set  all  sail  to  get  out  of  their 
way.  It  was  evidently  considered  a  mighty  piece  of  dar- 
ing to  attack  such  a  ship  at  all,  or  even  to  be  out  at  all 
at  such  a  season  instead  of  in  port,  as  sensible  galleys  al- 
ways were  in  winter.  When,  however,  the  wind  dropped 
and  the  course  of  the  big  vessel  was  arrested,  Carlo's 
opportunity  came.  He  called  his  crews  together  and 
made  them  a  speech,  which  seems  to  have  been  his  habit. 
The  vessels  collected  in  a  cluster  round  the  high  prow  on 
which  he  stood,  reaching  with  his  great  voice  in  the  hush 
of  the  calm  all  the  listening  crews,  must  have  been  such 
a  sight  as  none  of  our  modern  wonders  could  parallel; 
and  he  was  as  emphatic  as  Nelson,  if  much  longer  winded. 
The  great  Bichignona,  with  her  huge  sails  drooping  and 
no  wind  to  help  her  from  her  pursuers,  was  no  doubt 
lying  in  sight,  giving  tremendous  meaning  to  his  oration. 


146  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

"Men,"  he  cried,  "valenti  uomini,  if  you  were  ever 
prompt  and  ardent  in  battle,  now  is  the  time  to  prove 
yourselves  so.  You  have  to  do  with  the  Genoese,  your 
bitter  and  cruel  enemies,  whose  whole  endeavor  is  to  ex- 
tinguish the  Venetian  name.  They  have  beaten  our  fleet 
at  Pola,  with  great  bloodshed;  they  have  occupied 
Chioggia;  and  our  city  itself  will  soon  be  assailed  by 
them  to  reduce  her  to  nothing;  killing  your  wives  and 
children,  and  destroying  your  property  and  everything 
there  by  fire  and  sword.  Up  then,  my  brothers,  compagni 
miei !  despise  not  the  occasion  here  offered  to  you  to 
strike  a  telling  blow;  which,  if  you  do,  the  enemy  shall 
pay  dearly  for  their  madness,  as  they  well  deserve,  and 
you,  joyful  and  full  of  honor,  will  deliver  Venice  and  your 
wives  and  children  from  ruin  and  calamity." 

When  he  had  ended  this  speech  he  caused  the  trumpets 
to  sound  the  signal  of  attack.  The  oars  swept  forth,  the 
galleys  rushed  with  their  high-beaked  prows  like  so  many 
strange  birds  of  prey  round  the  big,  helpless,  overcrowded 
ship.  "  They  fought  with  partisans,  darts,  arrows,  and 
every  kind  of  arm;  but  the  lances  from  the  ship  were 
more  vehement  as  reaching  from  a  higher  elevation,  the 
form  of  the  ship  [nave]  being  higher  than  the  galleys, 
which  were  long  and  low;  nevertheless  the  courage  of  the 
Venetians  and  their  science  in  warfare  were  so  great  that 
they  overcame  every  difficulty.  Thus,"  goes  on  the 
historian,  "  this  ship  was  taken,  which  in  size  exceeded 
everything  known  in  that  age."  Carlo  dragged  his  prey 
to  Rhodes,  "not  without  difficulty,"  and  there  burned 
her,  giving  up  the  immense  booty  to  his  sailors  and 
soldiers;  then  "recalling  to  his  mind  his  country,"  with 
great  trouble  got  his  men  together  laden  with  their  spoils, 
and,  toiling  day  and  night  without  thought  of  danger  or 
fatigue,  at  length  reached  the  Adriatic.  Calling  at  an 
Italian  port  on  his  way  to  victual  his  ships,  he  found 
other  letters  from  the  Senate  still  more  imperative,  and 
on  the  ist  day  of  January,  1380,  he  arrived  before 
Chioggia,  where  lay  all  the  force  that  remained  to  Venice, 
and  where  his  appearance  had  been  anxiously  looked  for, 
for  many  a  weary  day. 

The  state  of  the  republic  would  appear  to  have  been  all 
but  desperate  at  this  miserable  moment.  After  endless 
comings  and  goings,  partial  victories  now  and  then  which 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  147 

raised  their  spirits  for  the  moment,  but  a  ceaseless  course 
of  harassing  and  fatiguing  conflict  in  narrow  waters  where 
scarcely  two  galleys  could  keep  abreast,  and  where  the 
Venetians  were  subject  to  constant  showers  of  arrows 
from  the  Genoese  fortifications,  the  two  fleets,  one  of 
them  under  the  doge,  the  other  under  Pisani,  seem  to 
have  lost  heart  simultaneously.  In  the  galleys  under  the 
command  of  Contarini  were  many  if  not  all  the  members 
of  the  Senate,  who  had  from  the  beginning  shown  the 
feeblest  heart;  and  meetings  were  held,  and  timorous 
and  terrified  consultations,  unworthy  their  name  and 
race,  as  to  the  possibility  of  throwing  up  the  struggle 
altogether,  leaving  Venice  to  her  fate,  and  taking  refuge 
in  Candia,  or  even  Constantinople,  where  these  terrified 
statesmen,  unused  to  the  miseries  of  a  winter  campaign 
on  board  ship,  and  the  incessant  watchings  and  fighting 
in  which  they  had  to  take  their  part,  thought  it  might  be 
possible  to  begin  again,  as  their  fathers  had  done.  While 
these  cowardly  counsels  were  being  whispered  in  each 
others'  ears,  on  one  hand,  on  the  other,  the  crews  with 
greater  reason  were  on  the  verge  of  mutiny. 

The  galleys  were  so  riddled  with  the  arrows  of  the  enemy  that  the 
sailors  in  desperation  cried  with  one  voice  that  the  siege  must  be  relin- 
quished, that  otherwise  all  that  were  in  the  galleys  round  Chioggia  were 
dead  men.  Those  also  who  held  the  banks,  fearing  that  the  squadrons 
of  Carrara  would  fall  upon  them  from  behind,  demanded  anxiously  to  be 
liberated,  and  that  the  defense  of  the  coast  should  be  abandoned.  Pisani 
besought  them  to  endure  a  little  longer,  since  in  a  few  days  Carlo  Zeno 
must  arrive,  adding  both  men  and  ships  to  the  armata,  so  that  the 
Genoese  in  their  turn  would  lose  heart.  Equal  desperation  of  mind  was 
in  the  other  division  of  the  fleet,  where  cold,  hunger,  and  the  deadly 
showers  of  arrows  which  were  continually  directed  against  the  galleys, 
had  so  broken  and  worn  out  all  spirit  that  soldiers  and  all  who  were  on 
board  thought  rather  of  flight  than  combat.  The  presence  of  the  doge 
somewhat  sustained  the  multitude,  and  the  exhortation  he  made,  showing 
them  what  shame  and  danger  would  arise  to  their  country  if  they  raised 
the  siege,  since  the  Genoese,  seeing  them  depart,  would  immediately 
follow  them  to  Venice.  But  neither  by  prayers  nor  by  promises  could 
the  spirits  of  the  men  be  emboldened  to  continue  the  siege.  And  things 
had  come  to  such  a  pitch  that,  for  two  days,  one  after  the  other  on  either 
side  had  determined  to  raise  the  siege,  when  Carlo  Zeno,  just  in  time, 
with  fourteen  galleys  fully  equipped  with  provisions  and  men,  about 
noon,  as  if  sent  by  God,  entered  the  port  of  Chioggia. 

Carlo  turned  the  balance,  and  supplied  at  once  the 
stimulus  needed  to  encourage  these  despairing  squadrons, 


148  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

/ 

unmanned  by  continual  failure  and  by  all  the  miseries  of 
sea  and  war;  troubles  to  which  the  greater  part  were 
unaccustomed,  since  in  the  failure  of  fighting  men  this 
armada  of  despair  had  been  filled  up  by  unaccustomed 
hands — mostly  artisans,  says  Sabellico — whose  discourage- 
ment is  more  pardonable.  Great  was  the  joy  of  the 
Venetians,  continues  the  same  authority,  "when  they 
heard  what  Carlo  had  done;  how  he  had  sunk  in  the  high 
seas  seventy  ships  of  divers  kinds  belonging  to  the 
enemy,  and  the  great  bark  Bichignona,  and  taken  three 
hundred  Genoese  merchants,  and  three  hundred  thousand 
ducats  of  booty,  besides  seamen  and  other  prisoners." 
The  newcomer  passed  on  to  Pisani  after  he  had  cheered 
the  doge's  squadron,  and  spread  joy  around,  even  the 
contingent  upon  the  coast  taking  heart;  and  another 
arrival  from  Candia  taking  place  almost  at  the  same 
moment,  the  Venetians  found  themselves  in  possession 
of  fifty-two  galleys,  many  of  them  now  manned  with 
veterans,  and  feared  the  enemy  no  more. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  in  detail  the  after  incidents  of 
this  famous  siege.  Carlo  in  concert  with,  and  partial  sub- 
ordination to,  Pisani,  succeeded  in  blockading  Chioggia  so 
completely  that  the  enemy  began  to  feel  the  same  stress 
of  famine  which  they  had  inflicted  upon  the  Venetians. 
But  the  various  attacks  and  assaults,  the  varying  fortunes 
of  the  besieged  and  besiegers,  are  too  many  to  be  recorded, 
as  the  painstaking  and  leisurely  chronicler  does,  event  by 
event.  According  to  the  biographer  of  Carlo,  that  heio 
was  never  at  a  loss,  but  encountered  every  movement  of 
the  Genoese,  as  they  too  began  to  get  uneasy,  and  to 
perceive  that  the  circle  round  them  was  being  drawn 
closer  and  closer,  with  a  more  able  movement  on  his  side, 
and  met  the  casualties  of  storm  and  accident  with  the 
same  never-failing  wit  and  wealth  of  resource.  Accord- 
ing to  Bishop  Jacopo,  the  entire  work  was  accomplished 
by  his  ancestor,  though  other  writers  give  a  certain  credit 
to  the  other  commanders.  But  as  soon  as  operations  of 
a  really  important  and  practical  character  had  begun,  a 
new  danger,  specially  characteristic  of  the  age,  arose  on 
the  Venetian  side.  Bishop  Jacopo  Zeno  would  have  us 
believe  that  up  to  this  time  the  Venetians  had  hired  no 
mercenaries,  which  is  an  evident  mistake,  since  we  have 
already  heard,  even  in  this  very  conflict,  of  forces  on 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  149 

shore,  a  small  and  apparently  faithful  contingent,  led  by 
a  certain  Giacomo  Cavallo  of  Verona.  But  perhaps  it 
was  the  first  time  that  a  great  armament  had  been  col- 
lected under  the  banner  of  San  Marco.  With  that  daring 
of  despair  which  is  above  calculation  as  to  means  of  pay- 
ment or  support,  the  Senate  had  got  together  a  force  of 
six  thousand  men — a  little  army,  which  was  to  be  con- 
ducted by  the  famous  English  condottiere,  Sir  John 
Hawkwood,  Giovanni  Aguto  according  to  the  Italian 
version  of  his  name.  These  soldiers  assembled  at  Peles- 
trina,  an  island  in  the  mouth  of  the  lagoons,  not  far 
from  Chioggia.  But  when  the  band  was  collected  and 
ready  for  action,  the  Senate,  dismayed,  found  the  leader 
wanting.  Whether  the  Genoese  had  any  hand  in  this 
defalcation,  or  whether  the  great  condottiere  was  kept 
back  by  other  engagements,  it  is  certain  that  at  the  last 
moment  he  failed  them;  and  the  new  levies,  all  unknown 
and  strange  to  each  other,  fierce  fighting  men  from 
every  nationality,  stranded  on  this  island  without  a 
captain,  became  an  additional  care  instead  of  an  aid  to 
the  anxious  masters  of  Venice.  Fierce  discussions  arose 
among  them,  una  pcricolosa  contesa,  the  Italians  against 
the  French  and  Germans.  In  this  emergency  the  Senate 
turned  to  Carlo  Zeno  as  their  only  hope.  His  youthful 
experiences  had  made  him  familiar  with  the  ways  of  these 
fierce  and  dangerous  auxiliaries,  and  he  was  considered 
a  better  leader,  Sabellico  tells  us,  by  land  than  by  sea. 
To  him  accordingly  the  charge  of  pacifying  the  mer- 
cenaries was  given.  "Carlo,  receiving  this  commission 
to  pass  from  the  fleet  to  the  camp,  and  from  war  at  sea 
to  war  on  land,"  put  on  his  armor,  and  quickly,  with  a 
few  companions,  transferred  himself  to  Pelestrina,  where 
he  found  everything  in  a  deplorable  condition: 


It  would  be  hard  to  tell  the  tumult  which  existed  in  the  army,  in 
which  there  was  nothing  but  attack  and  defense,  with  cries  of  blood  and 
vengeance,  so  that  the  uproar  of  men  and  weapons  made  both  shore  and 
sky  resound.  Carlo  announced  his  arrival  by  the  sound  of  trumpets, 
calling  upon  the  soldiers  to  pause  and  listen  to  what  their  captain  had  to 
say.  His  voice,  as  soon  as  it  was  heard,  so  stilled  that  commotion  that 
the  storm  seemed  in  a  moment  to  turn  into  a  calm  ;  and  everyone,  of 
whatever  grade,  rushed  to  him  exposing  his  grievances,  and  demanding, 
one  justice,  the  other  revenge.  There  were  many  among  them  who  had 
served  under  him  in  other  wars,  and  were  familiar  with  him. 


150  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

To  these  excited  and  threatening  men  he  made  a  judi- 
cious speech,  appealing  at  once  to  their  generosity  and 
their  prudence;  pointing  out  the  embarrassed  circum- 
stances of  the  Senate,  and  the  ingratitude  of  those  who 
received  its  pay  yet  added  to  its  troubles;  and  finally 
succeeded  in  making  a  truce  until  there  was  time  to 
inquire  into  all  their  grievances.  When  he  had  soothed 
them  for  the  moment  into  calm,  he  turned  to  the  Senate 
for  the  one  sole  means  which  his  experience  taught  him 
could  keep  these  unruly  bands  in  order.  He  had  been 
told,  when  his  commission  was  given  to  him,  that  "  it 
appeared  to  these  fathers  [the  Senate]  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  serve  the  republic  without  pay,"  which  was 
scarcely  an  encouraging  preliminary  for  a  demand  on 
their  finances.  Carlo,  however,  did  not  hesitate.  He 
wrote  to  the  Senate  informing  them  of  his  temporary 
success  with  the  soldiery,  and  suggesting  that,  like  medi- 
cine in  the  hands  of  a  doctor,  money  should  be  used  to 
heal  this  wound.  To  make  the  proposal  less  disagreeable 
to  the  poverty-stricken  state,  he  offered  himself  to  under- 
take the  half  of  the  burden,  and  to  give  five  hundred 
ducats  to  be  divided  among  the  soldiers,  if  the  Senate 
would  do  the  same;  to  which  the  rulers  of  Venice — partly 
moved  by  the  necessities  of  the  case  and  partly  by  his 
arguments,  and  that  the  republic  might  not  seem  less 
liberal  than  a  simple  citizen — consented,  and  peace  was 
accordingly  established  among  the  always  exacting  mer- 
cenaries. Peace,  however,  lasted  only  for  a  time;  and  it 
gives  us  a  lively  impression  of  the  troubles  of  mediaeval 
powers  with  these  artificial  armies,  to  trace  the  violent 
scenes  which  were  periodically  going  on  behind  all  other 
difficulties,  from  this  cause. 

When  Carlo  finally  got  his  army  in  motion,  and  landed 
them  on  the  edge  of  the  shore  at  Chioggia,  he  found 
occasion  almost  immediately  to  strike  a  telling  blow. 
Understanding  by  the  signals  made  that  the  enemy  in- 
tended to  make  a  sally  from  two  points  at  once — from 
Brondolo  on  one  side,  and  from  the  city  of  Chioggia 
on  the  other — he  at  once  arranged  his  order  of  battle; 
placing  the  English,  French,  and  Germans  on  the  side 
toward  Chioggia,  while  the  Italians  faced  the  party  com- 
ing from  Brondolo.  It  would  seem  from  this  that  Carlo's 
confidence  in  his  own  countrymen  was  greater  than  in  the 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  151 

strangers;  for  the  sallying  band  from  Chioggia  had  to 
cross  a  bridge  over  a  canal,  and  therefore  lay  under  a 
disadvantage  of  which  he  was  prompt  to  avail  himself. 

The  following  scene  has  an  interest,  independent  of 
the  quaint  story,  to  the  English  reader: 

When  Carlo  saw  this  [the  necessity  of  crossing  the  bridge]  he  was 
filled  with  great  hope  of  a  victory,  but  adding  a  number  of  the  middle 
division  to  the  Italians,  he  himself  joined  the  foreign  band,  and  hav- 
ing had  experience  of  the  courage  and  truth  of  the  English  captain, 
whose  name  was  William,  called  by  his  countrymen  il  Coquo  [Cook  ? 
or  Cock  ?],  he  called  him  and  consulted  with  him  as  to  the  tactics  of 
the  enemy,  and  how  they  were  to  be  met,  and  rinding  that  he  was  of 
the  same  opinion,  Carlo  called  the  soldiers  together  [a  parlamento\  and 
addressed  them  thus. 

Carlo's  speeches,  it  must  be  allowed,  are  a  little  long- 
winded.  Probably  the  bishop,  his  grandson,  with  plenty 
of  leisure  on  his  hands,  did  not  reflect  that  it  must  have 
been  a  dangerous  and  useless  expedient  to  keep  soldiers 
a  parlamento,  however  energetic  the  words  were,  when 
the  enemy  was  visibly  beginning  to  get  over  the  bridge 
in  face  of  them.  We  feel,  when  these  orations  occur, 
something  as  spectators  occasionally  do  at  an  opera, 
when  in  defiance  of  common  sense  the  conspirators  pause 
to  roar  forth  a  martial  ditty  at  the  moment  when  any 
whisper  might  betray  them,  or  the  lovers  perform  an 
elaborate  duo  when  they  ought  to  be  running  away  with 
all  speed  from  the  villain  who  is  at  their  heels.  Probably 
the  hero's  speech  was  very  much  shorter  than  his  descend- 
ant makes  it — just  long  enough,  let  us  suppose,  with 
William  the  Cock  at  his  elbow,  who  would  naturally  have 
no  faith  in  speechifying  at  such  a  moment,  to  let  the 
Genoese  get  completely  started  upon  that  bridge  which, 
though  assai  largo,  allowed  the  passage  of  but  a  small 
number  abreast.  The  enemy  themselves  came  on  gayly, 
with  the  conviction  that,  taken  thus  between  assailants 
on  two  sides,  Carlo  would  lose  heart  and  fly — and  had 
passed  a  number  of  their  men  over  the  bridge  before  the 
Venetian  army  moved.  Then  suddenly  Carlo  flung  his 
forces  upon  them  with  a  great  shouting  and  sound  of 
trumpets.  "  The  English  were  the  first  who  with  a  rush 
and  with  loud  cries  assailed  the  adversaries,  followed  by 
the  others  with  much  readiness  and  noise  "  \romore\.  The 
Genoese,  taken  by  surprise,  resisted  but  faintly  from  the 


152  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

first,  and  driven  back  upon  the  advancing  files  already  on 
the  bridge,  were  disastrously  and  tragically  defeated — the 
crowd,  surging  up  in  a  mass,  those  who  were  coming  con- 
fused and  arrested,  those  who  were  flying  pushed  on  by 
the  pursuers  behind,  until  with  the  unwonted  weight  the 
bridge  broke,  and  the  whole  fighting,  flying  mass  was 
plunged  into  the  canal.  The  division  which  approached 
from  Brondolo  was  not  more  fortunate.  On  seeing  the 
rout  of  their  companions  they  too  broke  and  fled  con 
velocissimi  corsi,  as  it  seems  to  have  been  the  universal 
habit  to  do  in  the  face  of  any  great  danger — the  fact  that 
discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor  being  apparently 
recognized  by  all,  without  any  shame  in  putting  the  maxim 
into  practice.  This  victory  would  seem  to  have  been 
decisive.  The  tables  were  turned  with  a  rapidity  which 
is  strongly  in  contrast  with  the  lingering  character  of  all 
military  operations  n  this  age.  /  Veneziani  di  vinti  diven- 
tarono  vincitori,  the  vanquished  becoming  victors;  and  the 
Genoese  lost  courage  and  hope  all  at  once.  The  greater 
part  of  them  turned  their  eyes  toward  Padua  as  the  near- 
est place  of  salvation,  and  many  fled  by  the  marshes  and 
difficult  tortuous  water  passages,  in  which  they  were 
caught  by  the  pursuing  barks  of  the  Venetians  and  those 
Chioggiotes  whom  the  invaders  had  driven  from  their 
dwellings.  Of  thirteen  thousand  combatants  who  were 
engaged  in  the  zuffa  here  described,  six  thousand  only, 
we  are  told,  found  safety  within  the  walls  of  Chioggia. 
Bishop  Jacopo  improves  the  occasion  with  professional 
gravity,  yet  national  pride.  "And  certainly,"  he  says, 
"there  could  not  have  been  a  greater  example  of  the 
changeableness  of  human  affairs  than  that  those  who  a 
little  time  before  had  conquered  the  fleets,  overcome  with 
much  slaughter  all  who  opposed  them,  taken  and  occupied 
th2  city,  despised  the  conditions  of  peace  offered  to  them, 
and  made  all  their  arrangements  for  putting  Venice  to 
sack,  in  full  confidence  of  issuing  forth  in  their  galleys 
and  leading  back  their  armies  by  the  shore,  proud  of  the 
hosts  whicli  they  possessed  both  by  land  and  sea — now 
broken  and  spent,  having  lost  all  power  and  every  help, 
fled  miserably,  wandering  by  dead  waters  and  muddy 
marshes  to  seek  out  ferries  and  hiding  places,  nor  even 
in  flight  finding  salvation.  Such  are  the  inconstancy 
and  changeableness  of  human  things." 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  153 

We  cannot  but  sympathize  with  the  profound  satisfac- 
tion of  the  bishop  in  thus  pointing  his  not  very  original 
moral  by  an  event  so  entirely  gratifying  to  his  national 
feelings. 

This  sudden  victory,  however,  as  it  proved,  was,  if 
decisive,  by  no  means  complete;  the  Genoese  who  re- 
mained still  obstinately  holding  their  own  within  the 
shelter  of  their  fortifications.  It  was  in  February  that 
the  above  recorded  events  occurred,  and  it  was  not  till 
June  that  Chioggia  was  finally  taken;  a  delay  to  be 
attributed,  in  great  part  at  least,  to  the  behavior  of  the 
mercenaries.  No  sooner  was  the  first  flush  of  delight  in 
the  unaccustomed  triumph  over,  than  the  troops  who  had 
done  their  duty  so  well  again  turned  upon  their  masters. 
On  being  ordered  by  sound  of  trumpet  to  put  them- 
selves in  motion  and  establish  their  camp  under  the  walls 
of  Chioggia,  these  soldiers  of  fortune  bluntly  refused. 
The  captains  of  the  different  bands  sought  Carlo  in  his 
tent,  where  two  Proveditori,  sent  by  the  Senate  to  con- 
gratulate him,  and  to  urge  him  to  follow  up  his  victory, 
were  still  with  him.  Their  message  was  a  very  practical 
one.  They  rejoiced  that  their  victory  had  been  so  help- 
ful to  the  republic,  which  they  regarded  with  great 
reverence  and  affection,  ready  at  all  times  to  fight  her 
battles;  but  they  thought  that  in  the  general  joy  the 
Senate  might  very  becomingly  cheer  the  soldiers  by  a 
present,  qualche  donativo — something  like  double  pay,  for 
example,  for  the  month  in  which  the  victory  had  been 
won.  This  would  be  very  grateful  and  agreeable  to  all 
ranks,  the  captains  intimated,  and  whatever  dangerous 
work  there  might  be  to  do  afterward  the  authorities 
should  find  them  always  ready  to  obey  orders  and  bear 
themselves  valorously;  but  if  not  granted,  not  a  step 
would  they  make  from  the  spot  where  they  now  stood. 
To  this  claim  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  but  consent. 
Once  more  Carlo  had  to  use  all  his  powers,  con  buone 
parole  di  addolcire  gli  animi  loro,  for  he  was  aware  "by 
long  trial  and  practice  of  war  that  soldiers  have  hard 
heads  and  obstinate  spirits."  He  therefore  addressed 
himself  once  more  to  the  republic,  urging  the  prudence 
of  yielding  this  donativo  lest  worse  should  come  of  it, 
adding,  "that  he,  according  to  his  custom,  would  con- 
tribute something  from  his  own  means  to  lighten  the 


154  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

burden  to  the  republic."  Such  scenes,  ever  recurring, 
show  how  precarious  was  the  hold  of  any  authority  over 
these  lawless  bands,  and  what  power  to  exact  and  to 
harass  was  in  their  merciless  hands. 

Some  time  later,  when  the  Genoese  shut  up  in  Chioggia 
had  been  well-nigh  driven  to  desperation,  a  rescuing  fleet 
of  thirty  galleys,  laden  with  provisions  and  men,  having 
been  driven  off  and  every  issue  closed  either  by  sea  or  land, 
the  mutinous  free  lances  appear  on  the  scene  again — this 
time  in  the  still  more  dangerous  guise  of  traitors.  "  The 
mercenaries  were  not  at  all  desirous  that  the  Genoese 
should  give  themselves  up,  being  aware  that  their  occu- 
pation and  pay  would  be  stopped  by  the  conclusion  of  the 
war."  This  fear  led  them  to  open  negotiations  with  the 
besieged,  and  to  keep  up  their  courage  with  false  hopes, 
the  leaders  of  the  conspirators  promising  so  to  act  as 
that  they  might  have  at  least  better  conditions  to  sur- 
render. A  certain  Robert  of  Recanati  was  at  the  head 
of  these  unfaithful  soldiers.  Carlo,  who  seems  to  have 
kept  up  a  secret  intelligence  department  such  as  was 
highly  necessary  with  such  dubious  servants,  discovered 
the  conspiracy,  and  that  there  was  an  intention  among 
them  of  taking  advantage  of  a  parade  of  the  troops  for 
certain  mutinous  manifestations.  The  wisdom  and  pa- 
tience of  the  leader,  anxious  in  all  things  for  the  success 
of  his  enterprise  and  the  safety  of  the  republic,  and 
dealing  with  the  utmost  caution  with  the  treacherous  and 
unreasoning  men  over  whom  he  held  uneasy  sway,  come 
out  conspicuously  in  these  encounters.  Carlo  forbade 
the  parade,  but  finding  that  the  mutineers  pretended  to 
be  unaware  of  its  postponement,  took  advantage  of  their 
appearance  armed  and  in  full  battle  array  to  remonstrate 
and  reason  with  them.  While  the  men  in  general,  over- 
awed by  their  general's  discovery  of  their  conspiracy  and 
abashed  by  his  dignified  reproof,  kept  silence,  Robert, 
ferocious  in  his  madness  and  hot  blood,  sprang  to  the 
front,  and  facing  Carlo,  adroitly  pressed  once  more  the 
ever-repeated  exactions.  "  We  come  to  you  armed  and 
in  order  of  battle,"  he  said,  "as  you  see,  to  demand 
double  pay  till  the  end  of  the  war.  We  are  determined 
to  have  it,  and  have  sworn,  by  whatsoever  means,  to 
obtain  it;  and,  if  it  is  denied  to  us,  we  warn  you  that,  with 
banners  flying,  and  armed  as  you  see  us,  we  will  go  over 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  I$5 

to  Chioggia  to  the  enemy."  The  much-tried  general  was 
greatly  disturbed  by  this  defiance,  but  had  no  resource 
save  to  yield. 

Believing  it  to  be  better  to  moderate  with  prudence  the  impetuosity 
of  this  hot  blood,  without  showing  any  alarm,  with  cheerful  countenance 
and  soft  words  Carlo  replied  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  believe 
that  these  words  were  spoken  in  earnest,  knowing  the  good  faith  and 
generosity  of  the  speaker's  mind,  and  believing  that  they  were  said  only 
to  try  him  ;  that  he  had  good  reason  for  believing  this,  since  otherwise 
Robert  would  have  committed  a  great  villainy  and  introduced  the  worst 
example,  such  as  it  was  impossible  a  man  of  his  high  reputation  could 
intend  to  do.  Nor  could  the  Senate  ever  believe  it  of  him,  having 
always  expected  and  thought  most  highly  of  him  and  rewarded  him 
largely,  according  to  the  faith  they  had  in  his  trustworthiness  and  experi- 
ence in  the  art  of  war  ;  for  nothing  rendered  soldiers  more  dear  to  the 
republic  than  that  good  faith  which  procured  them  from  the  said  republic 
and  other  princes  great  gifts  and  donations.  If  soldiers  were  indifferent 
to  the  failure  and  violation  of  this  faith,  who  could  confide  to  their  care 
the  safety  of  the  state,  of  the  women  and  children  ?  Therefore  he 
adjured  them  to  lay  down  their  arms,  and  he  would  watch  over  their 
interests  and  intercede  for  them  with  the  Senate.  While  Carlo  thus 
mildly  addressed  them  the  multitude  renewed  their  uproar,  opposing  him 
furiously  and  repeating  the  cry  of  double  pay,  which  they  demanded  at 
the  top  of  their  voices,  and  certain  standard-bearers  posted  among  them 
raised  their  banners,  crying  out  that  those  who  were  of  that  opinion 
should  follow  them  ;  to  whom  Carlo  turned  smiling,  and  declared  "  That 
he  also  was  on  that  side,  and  promised,  if  they  were  not  contented,  to  fight 
under  their  ensigns." 

While  this  struggle  was  still  going  on,  the  general, 
with  a  smile  on  his  lips  but  speechless  anxiety  in  his 
heart,  facing  the  excited  crowd  which  any  touch  might 
precipitate  into  open  mutiny  beyond  his  control,  a  sudden 
diversion  occurred  which  gave  an  unhoped-for  termina- 
tion to  the  scene.  The  manner  in  which  Carlo  seized 
the  occasion,  his  boldness,  promptitude,  and  rapid  com- 
prehension of  an  occurrence  which  might  under  less 
skillful  guidance  have  turned  the  balance  in  the  opposite 
direction,  show  how  well  he  deserved  his  reputation. 
The  Genoese,  who  had  been  warned  by  secret  emissaries 
that  on  this  day  the  mercenaries  intended  some  effort  in 
their  favor,  and  probably  perceiving  from  their  battle- 
ments that  something  unusual  was  going  on  in  the  camp, 
seized  the  moment  to  make  a  desperate  attempt  at  escape. 
They  had  prepared  about  eighty  small  vessels,  such  as 
were  used  to  navigate  the  passages  among  the  marshes, 
and  filled  them  with  everything  of  value  they  possessed 


156  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

in  preparation  for  such  an  occasion.  The  propitious 
moment  seeming  now  to  present  itself,  they  embarked 
hastily,  and  pushing  out  into  the  surrounding  waters, 
seeking  the  narrowest  and  least-known  passages,  stole 
forth  from  the  beleaguered  city.  "  But  vain,"  cries  the 
pious  bishop,  "are  the  designs  of  miserable  man!" 

The  boatmen  whose  attention  was  fixed  upon  every  movement 
within  the  walls  had  already  divined  what  was  going  on,  and  with 
delight  perceiving  them  issue  forth,  immediately  gave  chase  in  their 
light  barks,  giving  warning  of  the  escape  of  the  enemy  with  shouting  and 
a  great  uproar.  And  already  the  cry  rose  all  around,  and  the  struggle 
between  the  fugitives  and  their  pursuers  had  begun,  when  Carlo,  fired 
by  the  noise  and  clash  of  arms,  suddenly  turned  upon  the  soldiers,  and 
with  stern  face  and  terrible  eyes  addressed  them  in  another  tone. 
"  What  madness  is  this,"  he  cried,  "  cowards,  that  keeps  you  standing 
still  while  the  enemy  pushes  forth  before  your  eyes  laden  with  gold  and 
silver  and  precious  things,  while  you  stand  and  look  on,  chattering  like 
children  ! "  Upon  which  he  ordered  the  banners  to  move  on,  and  with 
a  great  voice,  so  that  the  whole  army  could  hear  him,  commanding  all 
who  kept  faith  with  the  republic  to  follow  him  against  the  enemy. 
Without  loss  of  time,  with  his  flag  carried  before  him,  he  among  the 
first  rushed  to  the  marshes,  plunging  breast-high  in  the  water  and  mud, 
and  his  voice  and  the  impetuosity  with  which  he  called  them  to  their 
senses  and  rushed  forth  in  their  front  had  so  great  a  power  that  the  whole 
army,  forgetting  their  complaint,  followed  their  captain,  flinging  them- 
selves upon  the  enemy,  and  thus,  with  little  truble,  almost  all  fell  into 
Carlo's  hands.  The  booty  thus  obtained  was  so  great  that  never  had 
there  been  greater,  nor  was  anything  left  that  could  increase  the  victory 
and  the  fury  until  night  fell  upon  the  work.  In  this  way  and  by  this 
means  was  an  end  made  of  the  controversy  of  that  day. 

This  accidental  settlement  however  was  only  for  the 
moment.  Robert  of  Recanati  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
driven  from  his  purpose.  The  remnant  of  the  imprisoned 
and  discouraged  Genoese,  greatly  diminished  by  these 
successive  defeats  and  now  at  the  last  point  of  starvation, 
were  about  to  send  messengers  to  the  doge  with  their 
submission,  when  he  and  the  other  conspirators,  seducing 
the  soldiers  in  increasing  numbers  to  their  side  by 
prophecies  of  the  immediate  disbandment  which  was  to 
be  anticipated  if  the  war  were  thus  brought  to  an  end, 
and  promises  of  continued  service  in  the  other  case — 
again  hurried  their  movements  to  the  brink  of  an  out- 
break. Carlo,  who  was  advised  of  all  that  happened  by 
his  spies,  at  last  in  alarm  informed  the  Senate  of  his  fears, 
who  sent  a  deputation  of  two  of  their  number  to  address 
the  captains  and  mitigarc  gli  animi  dei  soldati  con  qualche 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  157 

donative,  the  one  motive  which  had  weight  with  them. 
This  process  seemed  again  so  far  successful  that  the  cap- 
tains in  general  accepted  the  mollifying  gift  and  under- 
took to  secure  the  fidelity  of  their  men — all  but  Robert, 
who,  starting  to  his  feet  in  the  midst  of  the  assembly, 
protested  that  nothing  would  make  him  consent  to  the 
arrangement,  and  rushed  forth  into  the  camp  to  rouse  to 
open  rebellion  the  men  who  were  disposed  to  follow  him. 
Carlo,  perceiving  the  imminent  danger,  rushed  forth  after 
him  and  had  him  seized,  and  was  about  to  apply  the  rapid 
remedy  of  a  military  execution,  when  the  deputation 
from  Venice — popular  orators  perhaps,  trembling  for 
their  reputation  as  peacemakers  and  friends  of  the 
soldiers — threw  themselves  before  the  angry  general  and 
implored  mercy  for  the  rebel.  Against  his  better  judg- 
ment Carlo  yielded  to  their  prayers.  But  it  was  very 
soon  proved  how  foolish  this  clemency  was,  since  the 
same  afternoon,  the  orators  being  still  in  the  tents,  the 
sound  of  cries,  "  Arme  !  Arme  !"  and  "Sacco  /"  resounded 
through  the  camp,  and  it  soon  became  apparent  that  a 
rush  was  about  to  be  made  upon  Chioggia  without  dis- 
cipline or  prearrangement,  a  number  of  the  troops  fol- 
lowing Robert  and  his  fellow  conspirators  in  hope  of  a 
sack  and  plunder,  and  in  spite  of  all  the  general  could 
say.  When  Carlo  found  it  impossible  to  stop  this  wild 
assault,  he  sent  a  trusted  retainer  of  his  own  to  mix  in 
the  crowd  and  bring  a  report  of  all  that  went  on.  This 
trusty  emissary,  keeping  close  to  Robert,  was  a  witness 
of  the  meeting  held  by  the  conspirators  with  the  Genoese 
leaders  under  cover  of  this  raid,  and  heard  it  planned 
between  them  how  on  that  very  night,  after  the  Venetian 
mercenaries  had  been  driven  back,  a  sudden  attack 
should  be  made  by  the  Genoese  on  the  camp  with  the 
assistance  of  the  traitors  within  it,  so  that  the  rout  and 
destruction  of  the  besiegers  should  be  certain  and  the 
way  of  exit  from  Chioggia  be  thrown  open.  The  soldiers 
streamed  back  defeated  into  the  camp  when  the  object 
of  the  raid  had  been  thus  accomplished,  the  poor  dupes 
of  common  men,  spoiled  of  their  arms  and  even  clothes 
by  the  desperate  garrison,  while  Robert  and  his  friends 
returned  "almost  naked"  to  carry  out  the  deception. 
Carlo  met  them  as  they  came  back  in  broken  parties  with 
every  appearance  of  rout,  and  in  a  few  strong  words 


158  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

upbraided  them  with  their  folly  and  rashness;  but  when 
he  heard  the  story  of  his  spy,  the  gravity  of  the  position 
became  fully  apparent.  Night  was  already  falling,  and 
the  moment  approaching  when  the  camp,  unprepared, 
might  have  to  sustain  the  last  despairing  assault  of  the 
besieged,  for  whom  life  and  freedom  hung  upon  the  pos- 
sibility of  success,  combined  with  the  still  more  alarming 
danger  of  treachery  within.  The  soldiers  were  at  supper 
and  occupied,  those  who  had  come  back  from  Chioggia 
probably  lamenting  their  losses,  and  consoling  them- 
selves with  hopes  of  the  sack  of  the  town,  which  Robert 
had  used  as  one  of  his  lures — when  the  captains  of  the 
mounted  troops  (which  is  what  we  imagine  to  be  the 
meaning  of  the  expression  "  i  capi  degli  uomini  d'arme — de 
fante  no,  perche  sapeva  che  tutti  erano  nella  congiura  "),  leav- 
ing their  own  meal,  stole  toward  the  general's  tent  in  the 
quiet  of  the  brief  twilight.  Carlo  made  them  a  vigorous 
speech,  more  brief  than  his  ordinary  addresses,  first 
thanking  and  congratulating  them  on  their  former  exploits 
and  their  fidelity  to  the  republic;  then  laying  before  them 
the  discovery  he  had  made,  the  risk  that  all  they  had  done 
might  be  lost  through  the  treachery  of  one  among  them, 
and  the  desperate  necessity  of  the  case.  The  captains, 
startled  by  the  sudden  summons,  and  by  the  incidents  of 
the  day,  sat  rou-nd  him,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  their 
leader,  hearing  with  consternation  his  extraordinary 
statement,  and  for  the  moment  bewildered  by  the  revela- 
tion of  treachery  and  by  the  suddenness  of  the  peril. 
This  moment,  upon  which  hung  the  safety  of  the  Venetian 
name  and  the  decisive  issue  of  the  long  struggle,  must 
have  been  one  of  overwhelming  anxiety  for  the  sole 
Venetian  among  them;  the  only  man  to  whom  it  was  a 
question  of  life  or  death;  the  patriot  commander  unas- 
sured of  what  reply  these  dangerous  subordinates  might 
make.  But  he  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense. 

There  was  a  certain  captain  among  the  others  called  William,  of 
Britannic  origin.  He,  who  was  a  man  of  great  valor  and  the  greatest 
fidelity,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  looking  round  upon  them  all,  spoke  thus  : 
"  Your  words,  oh,  general  \imperatore\,  have  first  rejoiced  and  then 
grieved  us.  It  rejoiced  us  to  hear  that  you  have  so  much  faith  in  us,  and 
in  our  love  and  devotion  to  your  republic,  than  which  we  could  desire 
no  better — and  for  this  we  thank  you  with  all  our  hearts.  We  have 
known  you  always  not  only  as  our  general  and  leader  \imperatore  e  duce\, 
but  as  our  father,  and  it  grieves  us  that  there  should  be  among  us  men 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  159 

so  villainous  as  those  of  whom  you  tell  us.  It  appalls  my  soul  to  hear 
what  you  say  ;  and,  for  my  own  part,  there  is  nothing  I  am  not  ready  to 
do  in  view  of  the  hardihood  of  the  offender,  of  our  peril,  and  the  disci- 
pline of  our  army,  matters  which  cannot  be  treated  without  shame  of  the 
military  art.  But  you  are  he  who  have  always  overcome  by  your  care 
and  vigilance,  and,  with  that  genius  which  almost  passes  mortal,  have 
always  secured  the  common  safety,  defended  us  from  ill  fortune  and  from 
our  enemies,  and  trusted  in  our  good  faith.  We  can  never  cease  to 
thank  you  for  these  things,  and  God  grant  that  the  time  may  come  when 
we  shall  do  more  than  thank  you.  In  the  meantime  we  are  yours,  we 
are  in  your  power  ;  we  were  always  yours,  and  now  more  than  ever; 
make  of  us  what  pleases  you.  And  now  tell  us  the  names  of  those  who 
have  offended  you,  let  us  know  who  are  these  scoundrels  and  villains,  and 
you  shall  see  that  the  faith  you  have  had  in  us  is  well  founded." 

It  is  satisfactory  to  find  our  unknown  countryman  tak- 
ing this  manly  part.  Robert  was  sent  for,  the  entire 
assembly  echoing  the  Englishman's  words;  and  when  the 
traitor's  explanations  had  been  summarily  stopped  by  a 
gag,  Carlo  and  his  faithful  captains  came  out  of  the  gen- 
eral's quarters  with  a  shout  for  the  republic,  calling  their 
faithful  followers  round  them,  and  a  short  but  sharp 
encounter  followed,  in  which  the  conspirators  were 
entirely  subdued.  The  Genoese  meanwhile,  watching 
from  their  walls  for  the  concerted  signal,  and  perplexed 
by  the  sounds  of  battle,  soon  learned  by  flying  messen- 
gers that  the  plot  was  discovered  and  their  allies  de- 
stroyed. An  unconditional  surrender  followed,  and  the 
invaders,  who  had  for  ten  months  been  masters  of 
Chioggia,  and  for  half  that  time  at  least  had  held  Venice 
in  terror  and  had  her  in  their  power,  driving  the  mistress 
of  the  seas  to  the  most  abject  despair,  were  now  hurried 
off  ignominiously  in  every  available  barge  and  fisherman's 
coble,  rude  precursors  of  the  gondola,  to  prison  in  Venice 
— five  thousand  of  them,  Bishop  Jacopo  says.  He  adds 
that  after  their  long  starvation  they  ate  ravenously,  and 
that  the  greater  part  of  them  died  in  consequence,  a 
statement  to  be  received  with  much  reserve.  Sabellico 
tells  us  that  four  thousand  men  altogether  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  republic,  three  thousand  of  whom  were 
Genoese.  The  soldiers  among  them,  mercenaries  no 
doubt  and  chiefly  foreigners,  had  their  arms  taken  from 
them  and  were  allowed  to  go  free.  The  plunder  was 
taken  to  the  church  of  St.  Maria,  and  there  sold  by  auc- 
tion, the  Venetians  fixing  the  price,  which  was  handed 
over  to  the  soldiers,  the  chroniclers  say.  One  wonders 


l6o  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

if  the  bargains  to  be  had  under  these  circumstances  satis- 
fied the  citizens  to  whom  this  siege  had  cost  so  much. 

It  would  be  interesting,  though  sad,  to  follow  the  fate 
of  these  prisoners,  shut  up  in  dungeons  which  it  is  not  at 
all  likely  were  much  better  than  the  pozzi  at  present 
exhibited  to  shrinking  visitors,  though  these  prisons  did 
not  then  exist.  They  had  no  Marco  Polo,  no  chosen 
scribe  among  them  to  make  their  misery  memorable. 
The  war  lasted  another  year,  during  which  there  were 
moments  in  which  their  lives  were  in  extreme  peril.  At 
one  time  a  rumor  rose  of  cruelties  practiced  by  the 
Genoese  upon  the  Venetian  prisoners,  many  of  whom 
were  reported  to  have  died  of  hunger  and  their  bodies  to 
have  been  thrown  into  the  sea — news  which  raised  a  great 
uproar  in  Venice,  the  people  breaking  into  the  prisons 
and  being  with  difficulty  prevented  from  a  general  mas- 
sacre of  the  prisoners,  who  were  punished  for  the  sup- 
posed sin  of  their  compatriots  by  losing  all  comforts  and 
conveniences  and  being  reduced  to  bread  and  water,  the 
women  who  had  cooked  their  food  "for  pity"  being 
ordered  away.  Afterward,  however,  the  city,  according 
to  ancient  custom,  had  compassion,  and  restored  to  them 
everything  of  which  they  had  been  deprived.  On  the 
conclusion  of  the  war,  when  peace  was  made  and  the 
prisoners  exchanged,  there  is  a  little  record  which  shows, 
however  far  behind  us  were  these  mediaeval  ages,  that 
charity  to  our  enemies  is  not,  as  some  people  think,  an 
invention  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  Venetian  ladies  \matrone\  collected  among  themselves  money 
enough  to  supply  the  Genoese,  who  were  almost  naked,  with  coats, 
shirts,  shoes,  and  stockings,  and  other  things  necessary  for  their  personal 
use  before  their  departure,  that  they  might  not  have  any  need  to  beg  by 
the  way,  and  also  furnished  them  with  provisions  for  their  journey. 
And  those  who  were  thus  sent  back  to  their  home  were  of  the  number 
of  fifteen  hundred. 

Half  of  the  prisoners,  it  would  thus  appear,  perished 
within  the  year. 

The  war  with  Genoa  did  not  end  with  the  restoration 
of  Chioggia,  but  it  was  carried  on  henceforward  in  distant 
waters  and  among  the  Dalmatian  towns  and  islands. 
Carlo  Zeno  himself  was  sent  to  take  at  all  hazards  a  cer- 
tain Castle  of  Marano,  against  his  own  will  and  judgment, 
and  failed,  as  he  had  previously  assured  his  masters  he 


1A2    .' 


.  :CERS    OF    VENICE. 

be  had  under  these  circumstances  satis- 
-ns  to  whom  this  siege  had  cost  so  much. 

:  be  interesting,  though  sad,  to  follow  the  fate 

nsoners,  shut  up  in  dungeons  which  it  is  not  at 
were   much    better  than  the  pozzi  at  present 
ted  to  shrinking  visitors,  though  these  prisons  did 
not  then  exist.     They  had  no  Marco  Polo,  no  chosen 
>e  amon^  them  to  make   their   misery  memorable. 
The  war  lasted  another  year,  during   which  there  were 
moments  in  which  their  lives  were  in  extreme  peril.     At 
one   time   a  rumor   rose   of  cruelties   practiced   by  the 
Genoese  upon  the  Venetian  prisoners,   many  of  whom 
were  reported  to  have  eh*d  of  hunger  and  their  bodies  to 
have  been  thrown  itu  •  — news  which  raised  a  great 

uproar  in  V  e  pr-,  reaking  into  the  prisons 

and  being  with  nr  d  from  a  general  mas- 

sacre of  the  .  "  ^'./v  punished  for  the  sup- 

posed sin  of  i  •„]  all  comforts  and 

conveniences  ;<  ,-HJ  water,  the 

women  who  j,  •' for  pity"  being 

ordered  awa£ANTA  MARIA  DELLA  SALUTE     "ty,  according 
to  ancient  custop>  to  them 

everything  of  wh 
conclusion  of  the  w. 
prisoners  exchanged,  t 
howrrer  far  behind  us  w< 

our  enemies  is 

of  the  nineteenth  century. 

"•''cT'.<r..;»'i  iadies  \matront\  collected  among  themselves   money 

<FMNtgk   ":••    ••  .. .  !v   the  Genoese,  who  were  almost  naked,   with  coats, 

Blockings,  and  other  things  necessary  for  their  personal 

'  ;K*  ;  ;<s«  departure,  that  they  might  not  have  any  need  to  beg  by 

•   also  furnished  them  with  provisions   far  their  journey. 

-•  were  thus  sent  back  to  their  home  were  of  the  number 

prisoners,  it  would  thus  appear,  perished 

<  noa  did  not  end  with  the  restoration 
of  Q.  was  carried  on  henceforward  in  distant 

water<  g  the   Dalmatian    towns   and   islands. 

Carlo  Zer  <s  sent  to  take  at  all  hazards  a  cer- 

tain Casti.  'inst  his  own  will  and  judgment, 

and  failed,  as  iously  assured  his  master*  h« 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  l6l 

must  fail;  and  there  were  many  troubles  on  the  side  of 
Treviso,  which  Venice  presented  to  Duke  Leopold  of 
Austria,  in  order  to  preserve  it  from  the  Carrarese,  now 
the  obstinate  enemies  of  the  republic.  Here  the  diffi- 
culties with  the  condottieri  reappeared  again,  but  in  a 
less  serious  way.  The  soldiers  whose  pay  was  in  arrears, 
and  who,  hearing  of  the  proposed  transfer,  felt  them- 
selves in  danger  of  falling  between  two  stools,  and  getting 
pay  from  neither  side,  confided  their  cause  to  a  certain 
Borato  Malaspina,  who  presented  himself  before  the 
Venetian  magistrates  of  Treviso,  and  set  his  conditions 
before  them.  "We  have  decided,"  he  said,  "in  con- 
sideration of  the  dignity  of  the  Venetian  name  and  the 
good  faith  of  the  soldiers,  to  take  our  own  affairs  in 
hand,  and  in  all  love  and  friendship  to  ask  for  our  pay. 
We  have  decided  to  remain  each  man  at  his  post  until  one 
of  you  goes  to  Venice  for  the  money.  During  this 
interval  everything  shall  be  faithfully  defended  and 
guarded  by  us.  But  we  will  no  longer  delay,  nor  can  we 
permit  our  business  with  the  Senate  to  be  conducted  by 
letter.  Your  presence  is  necessary  in  order  that  every- 
thing may  go  well.  And  we  will  await  the  return  of  him 
who  shall  be  sent  to  Venice,  with  a  proper  regard  to  the 
time  necessary  for  his  coming  and  going.  There  is  no 
need  for  further  consultation  in  the  case,  for  what  we 
ask  is  quite  reasonable."  The  astounded  magistrates 
stared  at  this  bold  demand,  but  found  nothing  better  for 
it  than  to  obey. 

And  at  last  the  war  was  over,  and  peace,  in  which  to 
heal  her  wounds,  and  restore  her  half-ruined  trade,  and 
put  order  in  her  personal  affairs,  came  to  Venice.  Ac- 
cording to  the  promise  made  in  her  darkest  hour,  thirty 
families  from  among  those  who  had  served  the  republic 
best  were  added  to  the  number  of  the  nobles.  "  Before 
they  went  to  the  Palazzo  they  heard  the  divine  Mass, 
then,  presenting  themselves  before  the  prince  and  Senate, 
swore  to  the  republic  their  faith  and  silence."  The  last 
is  a  remarkable  addition  to  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and 
curiously  characteristic  of  Venice.  "  Giacomo  Cavallo, 
Veronese,"  adds  Sabellico,  "for  his  strenuous  and  faith- 
ful service  done  during  this  war,  obtained  the  same 
dignity."  Jt  was  the  highest  which  the  republic  could 
bestow. 


l62  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

The  subsequent  history  of  Carlo  Zeno  we  have  entirely 
upon  the  word  of  his  descendant  and  biographer,  who, 
like  most  biographers  of  that  age,  is  chiefly  intent  upon 
putting  every  remarkable  act  accomplished  in  his  time 
to  the  credit  of  his  hero.  At  the  same  time,  we  have 
every  reason  to  trust  Bishop  Jacopo,  whose  work  is  de- 
scribed by  Foscarini  as  the  most  faithful  record  existing 
of  the  war  of  Chioggia;  the  author,  as  that  careful  critic 
adds,  "being  a  person  of  judgment  and  enlightenment, 
and  living  at  a  period  not  far  removed  from  these  acts." 
He  was  indeed  born  before  the  death  of  his  grandfather, 
and  must  have  had  full  command  of  all  family  memorials 
as  well  as  the  evidence  of  many  living  persons,  for  the 
facts  he  records.  We  may  accordingly  take  his  book, 
with  perhaps  a  little  allowance  for  natural  partiality,  as  a 
trustworthy  record  of  the  many  wonderful  vicissitudes  of 
Carlo's  life.  And  whether  the  bold  pirate-like  counte- 
nance which  serves  as  frontispiece  to  Quirini's  translation 
of  the  bishop's  book  be  taken  from  any  authentic  por- 
trait (which  is  little  likely),  there  can  be  at  least  no 
doubt  of  the  family  tradition,  which  describes  the  great 
soldier-seaman  thus: 

"  He  was  square-shouldered,  broad-chested,  solidly  and 
strongly  made,  with  large  and  speaking  eyes,  and  a  manly, 
great,  and  full  countenance;  his  stature  neither  tall  nor 
short,  but  of  a  middle  size.  Nothing  was  wanting  in  his 
appearance  which  strength,  health,  decorum,  and  gravity 
demanded."  With  the  exception  perhaps  of  the  gravity 
and  decorum,  which  are  qualities  naturally  attributed  by 
a  clergyman  to  his  grandfather,  the  description  is  true  to 
all  our  ideas  of  a  naval  hero.  At  the  time  of  the  struggle 
before  Chioggia,  which  he  conducted  at  once  so  gallantly 
and  so  warily,  he  was  forty-five,  in  the  prime  of  his 
strength;  and  that  solid  and  steadfast  form  which  nothing 
could  shake,  those  eyes  which  met  undaunted  the  glare  of 
so  many  mutinous  troopers,  always  full  of  the  keenest 
observation,  letting  nothing  escape  them,  stand  out  as 
clearly  among  the  crowd  as  if,  forestalling  a  century, 
Gentile  Bellini  had  painted  him,  strongly  planted  upon 
those  sturdy  limbs  to  which  the  rock  of  the  high  seas  had 
given  a  sailor's  double  security  of  balance,  confronting 
the  heavy,  furious  Germans,  the  excited  Frenchmen,  the 
revengeful  Italians  of  other  states,  scarcely  less  alien  to 


BY   SEA    AND   BY    LAND.  163 

his  own  than  the  forestieri  with  their  strange  tongues — 
whose  sole  bond  of  allegiance  to  their  momentary  masters 
was  the  double  pay,  or  occasional  donativo,  which  they 
exacted  as  the  price  of  their  wavering  faith.  A  truer 
type  of  the  ideal  Venetian — strong,  subtle,  ready-witted, 
prompt  in  action  and  prepared  for  everything;  the  patriot, 
pirate,  admiral,  merchant,  general,  whichever  character 
was  most  needed  at  the  moment — could  not  be. 

Carlo  did  not  return  to  his  merchandise  after  this 
absorbing  struggle.  He  was  made  captain-general  of 
the  forces  on  the  death,  not  long  after,  of  Vittore  Pisani; 
and  when  the  old  Doge  Contarini  died  he  was  for  a  time 
the  favorite  candidate  for  that  honor.  The  electors 
indeed  had  all  but  decided  in  his  favor,  the  bishop  tells 
us,  when  a  certain  Zaccaria  Contarini,  "  a  man  of  great 
authority  and  full  of  eloquence  and  the  art  of  speech," 
addressed  an  oration  to  them  on  the  subject.  His  argu- 
ment was  a  curious  one.  Against  Carlo  Zeno,  he  allowed, 
not  a  word  could  be  said ;  there  was  no  better  man,  none 
more  worthy,  nor  of  higher  virtue  in  all  Venice;  none 
who  had  served  the  republic  better,  or  to  whom  her 
citizens  were  more  deeply  indebted;  but  these  were  the 
very  reasons  why  he  should,  not  be  made  doge — for 
should  another  war  arise  with  Genoa,  who  could  lead  the 
soldiers  of  Venice  against  her  rival  but  he  who  was  the 
scourge  of  the  Genoese;  a  man  with  whom  no  other  could 
compare  for  knowledge  of  things  naval  and  military;  for 
prudence,  judgment,  fidelity  to  the  country,  greatness, 
and  good  fortune?  "If  you  should  bind  such  a  man  to 
the  prince's  office,  most  noble  fathers,  to  stay  at  home, 
to  live  in  quiet,  to  be  immersed  in  the  affairs  of  the  city, 
tell  me  what  other  have  you?"  Thus  Carlo's  fame  was 
used  against  him,  "whether  with  a  good  intention  for 
the  benefit  of  the  republic,  or  from  envy  of  Carlo," 
Bishop  Jacopo  does  not  undertake  to  say.  Neither  does 
he  tell  us  whether  his  illustrious  ancestor  was  disap- 
pointed by  the  issue.  But  when  peace  was  proclaimed, 
and  there  was  no  more  work  for  him  nor  further  promo- 
tion possible,  Carlo  left  Venice  and  went  forth  upon  the 
world  "to  see  and  salute  various  princes  throughout 
Italy  with  whom  he  was  united  by  no  common  friendship. " 
A  man  so  celebrated  was  received  with  open  arms  every- 
where, especially  where  fighting  was  going  on,  and  made 


164  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

himself  useful  to  his  princely  friends  in  various  emer- 
gencies. He  served  Galeazzo  Visconti  of  Milan  in  this 
way,  and  was  governor  of  that  city  for  several  years  and 
also  of  the  province  of  Piedmont,  which  was  under 
Visconti's  sway,  and  absorbed  in  such  occupations  was 
absent  from  Venice  for  ten  years,  always  with  increasing 
honor  and  reputation.  While  thus  occupied,  what  seemed 
a  very  trifling  incident  occurred  in  his  career.  At  Asti 
he  encountered  Francesco  da  Carrara,  the  son  of  the  lord 
of  Padua,  sometime  the  enemy  but  at  that  moment  at 
peace  with  Venice,  an  exile  and  in  great  straits  and 
trouble;  and  finding  him  sad,  anxious,  and  unhappy,  and 
in  want  of  every  comfort,  per  non  mancare  air  ufficio  di 
gentiluomo,  not  to  fail  in  the  duty  of  a  gentleman,  did  his 
best  to  encourage  and  cheer  the  exile,  and  lent  him  four 
hundred  ducats  for  his  immediate  wants.  Some  years 
after,  when  Francesco  had  been  restored  to  Padua,  and 
regained  his  place,  Carlo  passed  through  that  city  on  his 
way  to  Venice,  and  was  repaid  the  money  he  had  lent. 
The  incident  was  a  very  simple  one,  but  not  without  dis- 
astrous consequences. 

On  his  return  to  Venice  Carlo  was  again  employed 
successfully  against  the  Genoese  under  a  French  general, 
that  proud  city  having  fallen  under  the  sway  of  France, 
and  covered  the  Venetian  name  once  more  with  glory. 
This,  to  all  appearance,  was  his  last  independent  action  as 
the  commander  of  the  forces  of  Venice.  He  was  grow- 
ing old,  and  civil  dignities,  though  never  the  highest, 
began  to  be  awarded  to  him.  When  the  war  with  the 
house  of  Carrara  broke  out,  Carlo  Malatesta  of  Rimini, 
one  of  the  great  condottieri  of  the  time,  held  the  chief 
command,  and  Carlo  Zeno  accompanied  the  army  only 
in  the  capacity  of  Proveditore.  A  strong  military  force 
was  by  this  time  in  the  pay  of  the  republic;  but  again,  as 
ever,  it  was  as  hard  a  task  to  keep  them  from  fighting 
among  them  themselves  as  to  overcome  the  enemy. 
Malatesta  threw  up  his  commission  in  the  midst  of  the 
campaign,  and  Paolo  Savello  was  appointed  in  his  stead; 
but  either  this  did  not  please  the  mercenaries,  or  personal 
feuds  among  them  breaking  out  suddenly  on  the  occasion 
of  the  change,  the  camp  was  immediately  in  an  uproar, 
and  the  different  factions  began  to  cut  each  other  in 
pieces.  Carlo  forced  his  way  into  the  middle  of  the  fight, 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  165 

and  when  he  had  succeeded  in  calming  it  for  the  moment, 
called  before  him  the  chiefs  of  the  factions,  and  after  his 
usual  custom  addressed  them.  His  speech  is  no  longer 
that  of  a  general  at  the  head  of  an  army,  but  of  an  old 
man,  much  experienced  and  full  of  serious  dignity,  before 
the  restless  and  ferocious  soldiers.  "I  thought,"  he 
said,  "that  the  uses  and  customs  of  war  would  have 
moderated  your  minds  and  delivered  you  from  passion; 
for  there  is  true  nobleness  where  prudence  is  conjoined 
with  courage,  and  nothing  so  becomes  a  generous  man  as 
a  tranquil  modesty  and  gravity  in  military  operations. 
The  shedding  of  blood  becomes  a  sordid  business  if  not 
conducted  and  accompanied  by  a  decorous  dignity." 
He  then  points  out  to  them  that  their  work  is  nearly 
accomplished;  all  the  difficulties  have  been  overcome; 
Padua  is  closely  besieged  and  famishing,  the  end  is  at 
hand: 

We  have  come,  oh,  captains,  to  the  conclusion  of  the  war  ;  a  fortunate 
end  is  near  to  your  toils  and  watches,  and  nothing  remains  but  the 
prize  and  the  victory.  What  then  would  you  have,  oh,  signori?  What 
do  you  desire  ?  What  fury  moves  you  ?  Why  are  these  arms,  which 
should  subdue  the  enemy,  turned  against  each  other?  Will  you  make 
your  own  labors,  your  vigils,  your  great  efforts,  and  all  the  difficulties 
you  have  overcome  but  useless  pains,  and  the  hope  of  success  in  so  hard 
a  fight  as  vain  as  they  ?  And  can  you  endure,  oh,  strong  men,  to  see  the 
work  of  so  many  months  destroyed  in  one  hour?  I  pray  you  then,  gener- 
ous captains,  if  any  sense  of  lofty  mind,  of  valor,  and  of  fidelity  i-  in  you, 
come,  lay  down  your  arms,  calm  your  rage,  conciliate  and  pacify  the 
offended,  make  an  end  of  these  feuds  and  conflicts,  return  to  your 
former  brotherlmess,  and  let  us  condone  those  injuries  done  to  the 
republic  and  to  me. 

The  old  warrior  was  seventy  when  he  made  this  speech. 
Yet  it  was  he,  if  his  biographer  reports  truly,  who  had 
explored  in  his  own  person  the  marshes  about  Padua, 
sometimes  wading,  sometimes  swimming,  pushing  his 
way  through  bog  and  mud,  to  discover  a  way  by  which 
the  troops  could  pass.  He  had  a  right  to  plead  that  all 
the  labors  thus  gone  through  should  not  be  in  vain. 

When  Padua  was  taken  Carlo  was  made  governor  of 
the  city.  The  unfortunate  Carrarese  were  taken  to 
Venice  and  imprisoned  in  San  Giorgio,  where  was  enacted 
one  of  the  darkest  scenes  in  Venetian  history.  But  with 
this  Zeno  had  nothing  to  do.  He  left  his  post  soon 
after,  a  colleague  having  been  appointed,  in  the  belief 


l66  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

that  nothing  called  for  his  presence,  and  returned  to 
Venice.  The  colleague,  to  whom  Bishop  Jacopo  gives 
no  name,  among  his  other  labors,  took  upon  him  to 
examine  the  expenditure  of  the  city  for  many  years  back, 
and  there  found  a  certain  strange  entry :  "To  Carlo  Zeno, 
paid  four  hundred  ducats."  No  doubt  it  was  one  of  the 
highest  exercises  of  Christian  charity  on  the  part  of  the 
bishop  to  keep  back  this  busybody's  name.  With  all 
haste  the  register  was  sent  to  Venice  to  be  placed  before 
the  terrible  Ten.  "The  Ten,"  says  Jacopo,  "held  in 
the  city  of  Venice  the  supreme  magistracy,  with  power 
to  punish  whomsoever  they  pleased;  and  from  their 
sentence  there  is  never  any  appeal  permitted  for  any 
reason  whatever,  and  all  that  they  determine  is  final, 
nor  can  it  be  known  of  anyone  whether  what  they  do  is 
according  to  reason  or  not."  Called  before  this  tribunal 
Carlo  gave  the  simple  explanation  with  which  the  reader 
has  been  already  furnished.  But  before  that  secret 
tribunal,  his  honor,  his  stainless  word,  his  labors  for  his 
country,  availed  him  nothing.  Perhaps  the  men  whose 
hands  had  strangled  Francesco  da  Carrara  and  his  son  in 
their  prison,  still  thrilling  with  the  horror  of  that  deed, 
felt  a  secret  pleasure  in  branding  the  hero  of  Chioggia, 
the  deliverer  of  Venice,  her  constant  defender  and  guard, 
as  a  traitor  and  miserable  stipendiary  in  foreign  pay. 
The  penalty  for  this  crime  was  the  loss  of  all  public  place 
and  rank  as  senator  or  magistrate,  and  two  years  of  prison. 
And  to  this  Carlo  Zeno  was  sentenced  as  a  fitting  end  to 
his  long  and  splendid  career. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  tell,  though  our  bishop  does 
it  with  fine,  suppressed  indignation,  how  the  people, 
thunderstruck  by  such  an  outrage,  both  in  Venice  itself 
and  in  the  other  surrounding  cities,  would  have  risen 
against  it : 

But  Carlo  [he  adds],  with  marvelous  moderation  of  mind  and 
with  a  strong  and  constant  soul,  supported  the  stroke  of  envious  fortune 
without  uttering  a  complaint  or  showing  a  sign  of  anxiety  ;  saying  solely 
that  he  knew  the  course  of  human  things  to  be  unstable,  and  that  this 
which  had  happened  to  him  was  nothing  new  or  unknown,  since  he  had 
long  been  acquainted  with  the  common  fate  of  men,  and  how  vain  was 
their  wisdom,  or  how  little  value  their  honors  and  dignities,  of  which  he 
now  gave  to  all  a  powerful  example. 

But  Venice  is  not  alone  in  thus  rewarding  her  greatest 
men. 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  l6j 

Bishop  Jacopo  does  not  say  in  so  many  words  that 
Carlo  fulfilled  his  sentence  and  passed  two  years  in 
prison;  so  we  may  hope  that  even  the  Ten,  with  all  their 
daring,  did  not  venture  to  execute  the  sentence  they  had 
pronounced.  All  we  are  told  is  that  "as  soon  as  he  was 
free  to  go  where  he  pleased  "  he  made  a  pilgrimage  to 
Jerusalem,  turning  his  soul  to  religion  and  sacred  things. 
Here  a  curious  incident  is  recorded,  to  which  it  is  difficult 
to  say  what  faith  should  be  given.  In  the  Holy  City 
Carlo,  according  to  his  biographer,  met  and  formed  a 
warm  friendship  with  a  Scotch  prince,  "  Pietro,  son  of 
the  King  of  Scotland,"  who  insisted,  out  of  the  love  and 
honor  he  bore  him,  on  knighting  the  aged  Venetian. 
We  know  of  no  Prince  Peter  in  Scottish  history,  but  he 
might  have  been  one  of  the  many  sons  of  Robert  II.,  the 
first  Stewart  king.  The  rank  of  knight,  so  prized  among 
the  Northern  races,  seems  to  have  been,  like  other  grades, 
little  known  among  the  Venetians,  the  great  distinction 
between  the  noble  and  the  plebeian  being  the  only  one 
existing.  To  be  made  a  knight  in  peaceful  old  age,  after 
a  warlike  career,  is  a  whimsical  incident  in  Carlo's  life. 

But  though  he  was  old,  and  a  peaceful  pilgrim  on  a 
religious  journey,  his  hand  had  not  forgotten  its  cunning 
in  affairs  of  war;  and  on  his  way  home  he  lent  his  powerful 
aid  to  the  King  of  Cyprus,  and  once  more,  no  doubt  with 
much  satisfaction  to  himself,  beat  the  Genoese  and  saved 
the  island.  Returning  home  the  old  man,  somewhere 
between  seventy  and  eighty,  married  for  the  third  time, 
but  very  reasonably,  a  lady  of  a  noble  Istrian  family,  of 
an  age  not  unsuitable  to  his  own,  "  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  secure  good  domestic  government,  and  a  consort 
and  companion  who  would  take  upon  herself  all  internal 
cares,  and  leave  him  free  to  study  philosophy  and  the 
sacred  writings."  Let  us  hope  that  the  old  couple  were 
happy,  and  that  the  lady  was  satisfied  with  the  position 
assigned  her.  Having  thus  provided  for  the  due  regula- 
tion of  all  his  affairs,  the  old  warrior  gave  himself  up  to 
the  enjoyment  of  his  evening  of  leisure.  He  made  friends 
with  all  the  doctors  and  learned  men  of  his  day,  a  list  of 
names  eruditissimi  in  their  time,  but,  alas  !  altogether 
passed  from  human  recollection;  and  his  house  became 
a  second  court,  a  center  of  intellectual  life  in  Venice  as 
well  as  the  constant  haunt  of  honest  statesmen  and  good 


1 68  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

citizens  seeking  his  advice  on  public  questions  and  mate- 
rial difficulties  as  they  arose.  As  for  Carlo,  he  loved 
nothing  so  much  as  to  spend  his  time  in  reading  and 
writing,  and  every  day,  when  he  was  able,  heard  Mass  in 
San  Stefano,  "nor  ever  went  out,"  adds  the  bishop  with 
satisfaction,  "that  he  did  not  go  to  church  or  some  other 
religious  place."  "In  the  cold  winter  \nelV  orrida  e 
gelida  invernata\  he  had  his  bed  filled  with  books,  so  that 
when  he  had  slept  sufficiently  he  could  sit  up  in  bed  and 
pass  the  rest  of  the  night  in  reading,  nor  would  he  put 
down  his  book  save  for  some  great  necessity."  One 
wonders  what  books  the  noble  old  seaman  had  to  read. 
Scholastic  treatises  on  dry  points  of  mediaeval  philosophy, 
hair-splitting  theological  arguments  most  probably.  Let 
us  hope  that  there  blossomed  between  some  saintly 
legends,  some  chronicle  newly  written  of  the  great  story 
of  Venice,  perhaps  some  sonnet  of  Petrarch's,  whom 
Carlo  in  his  early  manhood  must  have  met  on  the  Piazza, 
or  seen  looking  out  from  the  windows  on  the  Riva — or, 
perhaps,  even  some  portion  of  the  great  work  of  Dante 
the  Florentine.  He  forgot  himself  and  the  troubles  of 
his  old  age  among  his  books;  but  before  he  had  reached 
the  profounder  quiet  of  the  grave  Carlo  had  still  great 
sorrows  to  bear.  The  worthy  wife  who  took  the  cares 
of  his  household  from  him  grew  ill  and  died,  to  his  great 
grief;  and — a  pang  still  greater — Jacopo,  his  youngest 
son,  the  father  of  the  bishop,  died,  too,  in  the  flower  of 
his  manhood,  at  thirty,  leaving  the  old  father  desolate. 
Another  son,  Pietro,  survived,  and  was  a  good  seaman 
and  commander;  but  it  was  upon  Jacopo  that  the  father's 
heart  was  set.  At  last,  in  1418,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four, 
— in  this  point,  too,  following  the  best  traditions  of 
Venice, — Carlo  Zeno  died,  full  of  honors  and  of  sorrows. 
He  was  buried  with  all  imaginable  pomp,  the  entire  city 
joining  the  funeral  procession.  One  last  affecting  inci- 
dent is  recorded  in  proof  of  the  honor  in  which  his 
countrymen  and  his  profession  held  the  aged  hero.  The 
religious  orders  claimed,  as  was  usual,  the  right  of  carry- 
ing him  to  his  grave;  but  against  this  the  seafaring 
population,  quasi  tutti  i  Veneziani  allevati  sul  mare,  arose 
as  one  man,  and  hastening  to  the  doge  claimed  the  right 
of  bearing  to  his  last  rest  the  commander  who  had  loved 
them  so  well.  Their  prayer  was  granted;  and  with  all 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  169 

the  ecclesiastical  splendors  in  front  of  them,  and  all  the 
pomp  of  the  State  behind,  the  seamen  of  Venice,  *  Vene- 
ziani  sperimentati  nelle  cose  maritime,  carried  him  to  his 
grave;  each  relay  watching  jealously  that  every  man 
might  have  his  turn.  This  band  of  seamen,  great  and 
small,  forming  the  center  of  the  celebration,  makes 
a  fatting  conclusion  to  the  career  of  the  great  captain, 
who  had  so  often  swept  the  seas,  the  alto  mare,  of  every 
flag  hostile  to  his  city. 

But  in  modern  Venice  the  tomb  of  Carlo  Zeno  is 
known  no  more.  He  was  buried  "in  the  celebrated 
church  called  La  Celestia,"  attached  to  a  convent  of 
Cistericans,  but  long  ago  destroyed.  Its  site  and  what 
unknown  fragments  may  remain  of  its  original  fabric  now 
form  part  of  the  Arsenal,  and  there  perhaps  under  some 
forgotten  stone  lie  the  bones  of  the  great  admiral,  the 
scourge  of  Genoa — not,  after  all,  an  inappropriate  spot. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SOLDIERS   OF   FORTUNE:    CARMAGNOLA. 

THE  history  of  Venice  opens  into  a  totally  new  chapter 
when  the  great  republic,  somewhat  humbled  and  driven 
back  by  the  victorious  Turk  from  her  possessions  beyond 
sea,  and  maintaining  with  difficulty  her  broken  suprem- 
acy as  a  maritime  power,  begins  to  turn  her  eyes  to- 
ward the  green  and  fat  terra  firma — those  low-lying  plains 
that  supplied  her  with  bread  and  beeves,  which  it  was  so 
natural  to  wish  for,  but  so  uneasy  to  hold.  The  sugges- 
tion that  her  enemies,  if  united,  could  cut  her  off  at  any 
time  from  her  supplies,  so  nearly  accomplished  in  the 
struggle  for  Chioggia,  was  a  most  plausible  and  indeed 
reasonable  ground  for  acquiring,  if  possible,  the  com- 
mand in  her  own  hands  of  the  rich  Lombardy  pastures 
and  fields  of  grain.  And  when  the  inhabitants  of  certain 
threatened  cities  hastily  threw  themselves  on  her  protec- 
tion in  order  to  escape  their  assailants,  her  acceptance 
was  instantaneous,  and  it  would  seem  to  have  been  with 
an  impulse  of  delight  that  she  felt  her  foot  upon  the 
mainland,  and  saw  the  possibility  within  her  power  of 
establishing  a  firm  standing,  perhaps  acquiring  a  per- 
'manent  empire  there.  It  would  be  hopeless  to  enter  into 
the  confused  and  endless  politics  of  Guelf  and  Ghibel- 
line,  which  threw  a  sort  of  veil  over  the  fact  that  every 
man  was  in  reality  for  his  own  hand,  and  that  to  establish 
himself  or  his  leader  in  the  sovereignty  of  a  wealthy  city, 
by  help  of  either  one  faction  or  the  other,  or  in  the  name 
of  a  faction,  or  on  any  other  pretext  that  might  be 
handy,  was  the  real  purpose  of  the  captains  who  cut  and 
carved  Lombardy,  and  of  the  reigning  families  who  had 
already  established  themselves  upon  the  ashes  of  defunct 
republics  or  subdued  municipalities.  But  of  this  there 
was  no  possibility  in  Venice.  No  Whites  and  Blacks 
ever  struggled  in  the  canals.  The  only  rebellions  that 
touched  her  were  those  made  by  men  or  parties  endeav- 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  171 

oring  to  get  a  share  of  the  power  which  by  this  time 
had  been  gathered  tightly,  beyond  all  possibility  of  mov- 
ing, in  patrician  hands.  Neither  the  Pope  nor  the  em- 
peror was  ever  the  watchword  of  a  party  in  the  supreme 
and  independent  city,  which  dealt  on  equal  terms  with 
both. 

There  was  no  reason,  however,  why  Venice  should  not 
take  advantage  of  these  endless  contentions;  and  there 
was  one  existing  in  full  force  which  helped  to  make  the 
wars  of  the  mainland  more  easy  to  the  rich  Venetians 
than  war  had  ever  been  before.  All  their  previous  ex- 
peditions of  conquest,  which  had  been  neither  few  nor 
small,  were  at  the  cost  of  the  blood  as  well  as  the  wealth 
of  Venice ;  had  carried  off  the  best  and  bravest ;  and  even, 
as  in  the  romantic  story  of  the  Giustiniani,  swept  whole 
families  away.  But  this  was  no  longer  the  case  when  she 
strode  upon  terra  firma  with  an  alien  general  at  her  elbow, 
and  mercenary  soldiers  at  her  back.  Though  they  might 
not  turn  out  very  satisfactory  in  the  long  run,  no  doubt 
there  must  have  been  a  certain  gratification  in  hiring,  so 
to  speak,  a  ready-made  army,  and  punishing  one's  enemy 
and  doubling  one's  possessions  without  so  much  as  a 
scratch  on  one's  own  person  or  the  loss  even  of  a  retainer. 
The  condottieri,  conductors,  leaders,  captains  of  the  wild 
spirits  that  were  to  be  found  all  over  the  world  in  that 
age  of  strife  and  warfare,  were,  if  not  the  special  creation 
of,  at  least  most  specially  adapted  for  the  necessities  of 
those  rich  towns,  always  tempting  to  the  ambitious, 
always  by  their  very  nature  exposed  to  assault,  and  at 
once  too  busy  and  too  luxurious  at  this  advanced  stage 
of  their  history  to  do  their  fighting  themselves — which 
divided  Italy  among  them,  and  which  were  each  other's 
rivals,  competitors,  and  enemies,  to  the  sad  hindrance  of 
all  national  life,  but  to  the  growth,  by  every  stimulus  of 
competition,  of  arts  and  industries  and  ways  of  getting 
rich — in  which  methods  each  endeavored  with  the  zeal 
of  personal  conflict  to  outdo  the  rest.  The  rights,  the 
liberties  and  independence  of  those  cities  were  always 
more  or  less  at  the  mercy  of  any  adventurous  neighbor- 
ing prince  who  had  collected  forces  enough  to  assail 
them,  or  of  the  stronger  among  their  own  fellows.  We 
must  here  add  that  between  the  horrors  of  the  first  mer- 
cenaries, the  Grande  Compagnia,  which  carried  fire  and 


172  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

sword  through  Italy,  and  made  Petrarch's  blood  run  cold, 
and  even  the  endless  turbulence  and  treachery  of  the  men 
whom  Carlo  Zeno  had  so  much  ado  to  master,  and  the 
now  fully  organized  and  reorganized  armies,  under  their 
own  often  famous  and  sometimes  honorable  leaders,  there 
was  a  great  difference.  The  free  lances  had  become  a 
sort  of  lawful  institution,  appropriate  and  adapted  to  the 
necessities  of  the  time. 

The  profession  of  soldier  of  fortune  is  not  one  which 
commends  itself  to  us  nowadays;  and  yet  there  was  noth- 
ing necessarily  in  it  dishonorable  to  the  generals  who 
carried  on  their  game  of  warfare  at  the  expense  of  the 
quarrelsome  races  which  employed  them,  but  at  wonder- 
fully little  cost  of  human  life.  No  great  principle  lay  in 
the  question  whether  Duke  Philip  of  Milan  or  the  republic 
of  Venice  should  be  master  of  Cremona.  One  of  them, 
if  they  wished  it,  was  bound  to  have  the  lesser  city;  and 
what  did  it  matter  to  a  general  who  was  a  Savoyard,  com- 
ing down  to  those  rich  plains  to  make  his  fortune,  which 
of  these  wealthy  paymasters  he  should  take  service 
under?  His  trade  was  perhaps  as  honest  as  that  of  the 
trader  who  buys  in  the  cheapest  market  and  sells  in  the 
dearest  all  the  world  over.  He  obeyed  the  same  law  of 
supply  and  demand.  He  acted  on  the  same  lively  sense 
of  his  own  interests.  If  he  transferred  himself  in  the 
midst  of  the  war  from  one  side  to  the  other  there  was 
nothing  very  remarkable  in  it,  since  neither  of  the  sides 
was  his  side;  and  it  was  a  flourishing  trade.  One  of  its 
chief  dangers  was  the  unlucky  accident  that  occurred 
now  and  then,  when  a  general,  who  failed  of  being  suc- 
cessful, had  his  head  taken  off  by  the  Signoria  or  Seigneur 
in  whose  employment  he  was,  probably  on  pretense  of 
treason.  But  fighting  of  itself  was  not  dangerous,  at 
least  to  the  troops  engaged,  and  spoils  were  plentiful  and 
the  life  a  merry  one.  Italy,  always  so  rich  in  the  bounties 
of  nature,  had  never  been  so  rich  as  in  these  days,  and  the 
troops  had  a  succession  of  villages  always  at  their  com- 
mand, with  the  larger  morsel  of  a  rich  town  to  sack  now 
and  then,  prisoners  to  ransom,  and  all  the  other  chances 
of  war.  Their  battles  were  rather  exercises  of  skill  than 
encounters  of  personal  opponents,  and  it  was  not  unusual 
to  achieve  a  great  feat  of  arms  without  shedding  a  drop 
of  biood.  The  bloodshed  was  among  the  non-com- 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  173 

batants — the  villagers,  the  harmless  townsfolk  who  were 
mad  enough  to  resist  them — and  not  among  the  fighting 
men. 

Such  was  the  profession,  when  a  wandering  Savoyard 
trooper — perhaps  come  home  with  his  spoils  in  filial 
piety,  or  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  a  rustic  love  with 
trinkets  dragged  from  the  ears  or  pulled  bloody  from  the 
throat  of  some  Lombard  maiden — took  note  among  the 
fields  of  a  keen-eyed  boy,  who  carried  his  shaggy  locks 
with  such  an  ariafiera,  so  proud  an  air,  that  the  soldier 
saw  something  beyond  the  common  recruit  in  this  young 
shepherd  lad.  Romance,  like  nature,  is  pretty  much  the 
same  in  all  regions;  and  young  Francesco,  the  peasant's 
son,  under  the  big  frontier  tower  of  Carmagnola,  makes 
us  think  with  a  smile  of  young  Norval  "on  the  Grampian 
Hills  " — that  noble  young  hero  whose  history  has  unfortu- 
nately fallen  into  derision.  But  in  those  distant  days, 
when  the  fifteenth  century  had  just  begun,  and  through 
all  the  Continent  there  was  nothing  heard  but  the  clatter 
of  mail  and  the  tread  of  the  war-horse,  there  was  nothing 
ridiculous  in  the  idea  that  the  boy,  hearing  of  battles, 
should  long  ''to  follow  to  the  field  some  warlike  lord," 
or  should  leave  the  sheep  to  shift  for  themselves,  and  go 
off  with  the  bold  companion  who  had  such  stories  of  siege 
and  fight  to  tell.  He  appears  to  have  entered  at  once  the 
service  of  Facino  Cane,  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of 
the  time,  under  whom  he  rose,  while  still  quite  young, 
to  some  distinction.  Such,  at  least,  would  seem  to  have 
been  the  case,  since  one  of  the  first  notices  in  the  history 
of  the  young  Piedmontese  is  the  record  in  one  of  the  old 
chronicles  of  a  question  put  to  Facino — Why  did  he  not 
promote  him?  To  which  the  great  condottiere  replied 
that  he  could  not  do  so — the  rustic  arrogance  of  Fran- 
ceso  being  such  that,  if  he  got  one  step,  he  would  never 
be  satisfied  till  he  was  chief  of  all.  For  this  reason, 
though  his  military  genius  was  allowed  full  scope,  he  was 
kept  in  as  much  subjection  as  possible,  and  had  but  ten 
lances  under  him,  and  small  honor,  as  far  as  could  be 
seen;  yet  was  noted  of  the  captains  as  a  man  born  to  be 
something  beyond  the  ordinary  level  when  his  day  should 
come. 

The  Italian  world  was,  as  usual,  in  a  state  of  great 
disturbance  in  these  days.  Giovanni  or  Gian  Galeazzo, 


174  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  Duke  of  Milan,  in  his  time  as  masterful  an  invader  as 
any,  had  died,  leaving  two  sons — the  one  who  succeeded 
him,  Gian  Maria,  being  a  feeble  and  vicious  youth,  of 
whose  folly  and  weakness  the  usual  advantages  were  soon 
taken.  When  the  young  duke  was  found  to  be  unable  to 
restrain  them,  the  cities  of  Lombardy  sprang  with  won- 
derful unanimity  each  into  a  revolution  of  its  own.  The 
generals  who  on  occasion  had  served  the  house  of  Visconti 
faithfully  enough,  found  now  the  opportunity  to  which 
these  free  lances  were  always  looking  forward,  and  estab- 
lished themselves,  each  with  hopes  of  founding  a  new 
dukedom,  and  little  independent  dominion  of  his  own,  in 
the  revolted  cities.  Piacenza,  Parma,  Cremona,  Lodi,  all 
found  thus  a  new  sovereign,  with  an  army  to  back  him. 
The  duke's  younger  brother,  Filippo  Maria,  had  been 
left  by  his  father  in  procession  of  the  town  of  Pavia,  a 
younger  son's  inheritance;  but  Facino  Cane  made  light 
of  this  previous  settlement,  and  in  the  new  position  of 
affairs,  with  the  house  of  Visconti  visibly  going  downhill, 
took  possession  of  the  city,  retaining  young  Philip  as  half 
guest,  half  prisoner.  When  matters  were  in  this  woeful 
state  the  duke  was  assassinated  in  Milan,  and  by  his 
death  the  young  captive  in  Pavia  became  the  head  of 
the  house — to  little  purpose,  however,  had  things 
remained  as  they  were.  But  on  the  very  same  day 
Facino  died  in  Pavia,  and  immediately  all  the  prospects 
of  Philip  were  altered.  There  was  evidently  no  one  to 
take  the  place  of  the  dead  soldier.  The  troops  who  had 
brought  him  to  that  eminence,  and  the  wealth  he  had 
acquired,  and  the  wife  who  probably  mourned  but  little 
for  the  scarred  and  deaf  old  trooper  who  had  won  her  by 
his  bow  and  spear,  were  all  left  to  be  seized  by  the  first 
adventurer  who  was  strong  enough  to  take  advantage  of 
the  position.  Whether  by  his  own  wit  or  the  advice 
of  wise  counselors,  the  young  disinherited  prince  sprang 
into  the  vacant  place,  and  at  once  a  counter  revolution 
began. 

It  would  seem  that  the  death  of  his  leader  raised  Fran- 
cesco the  Savoyard,  by  an  equally  sudden  leap,  into  the 
front  of  the  captains  of  that  army.  He  had  taken  the 
name  of  his  village,  a  well-sounding  one  and  destined  to 
fatal  celebrity,  perhaps  by  reason  of  the  want  of  a  sur- 
name which  was  common  to  Italian  peasants,  and  which 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  175 

probably  told  more  among  the  condottieri,  whose  ranks 
included  many  of  the  best  names  in  Italy,  than  it  did  in 
art.  He  was  still  very  young,  not  more  than  twenty-two. 
But  he  would  seem  to  have  had  sufficient  sense  and  insight 
to  perceive  the  greatness  of  the  opportunity  that  lay  be- 
fore him,  and  to  have  at  once  thrown  the  weight  of  his 
sword  and  following  upon  Philip's  side.  Probably  the 
two  young  men  had  known  each  other,  perhaps  been 
comrades  more  or  less,  when  Carmagnola  was  a  young 
captain  under  Facino's  orders  and  Philip  an  uneasy 
loiterer  about  his  noisy  court.  At  all  events  Carmagnola 
at  once  embraced  the  prince's  cause.  He  took  Milan  for 
him,  killing  an  illegitimate  rival,  and  overcoming  all  rival 
factions  there;  and  afterward,  as  commander-in-chief  of 
the  Duke  of  Milan's  forces,  reconquered  one  by  one  the 
revolted  cities.  This  was  a  slow  process,  extending  over 
several  seasons — for  those  were  the  days  when  everything 
was  done  by  rule,  when  the  troops  retired  into  winter 
quarters,  and  a  campaign  was  a  leisurely  performance, 
executed  at  a  time  of  year  favorable  for  such  operations, 
and  attended  by  little  danger  except  to  the  unfortunate 
inhabitants  of  the  district  in  which  it  was  carried  on. 

The  services  thus  rendered  were  largely  and  liberally 
rewarded.  A  kinswoman  of  Philip's,  a  lady  of  the  Visconti 
family,  whose  first  husband  had  been  high  in  the  duke's 
confidence,  became  Carmagnola's  wife,  and  the  privilege 
of  bearing  the  name  of  Visconti  and  the  arms  of  the 
reigning  house  was  conferred  upon  him.  He  was  not 
only  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  troops,  but  held  a 
high  place  at  court,  and  was  one  of  the  chief  and  most 
trusted  of  Philip's  counselors.  The  Piedmontese  soldier 
was  still  a  young  man  when  all  these  glories  came  upon 
him,  with  accompanying  wealth,  due  also  to  Philip's 
favor,  as  well  as  to  the  booty  won  in  Philip's  cause.  He 
seems  to  have  lived  in  Milan  in  a  state  conformable  to 
these  high  pretensions  and  to  the  position  of  his  wife, 
and  was  in  the  act  of  building  himself  a  great  palace,  now 
known  as  the  Broletto,  and  appropriated  to  public  use, 
when  the  usual  fate  of  a  favorite  began  to  shadow  over 
him.  This  was  in  the  year  1424,  twelve  years  after  he 
had  thrown  in  his  fate  with  the  prince  in  Pavia.  The 
difference  in  Philip's  position  by  this  time  was  wonderful. 
He  had  then  possessed  nothing  save  a  doubtful  claim  on 


176  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  city  where  he  was  an  exile  and  prisoner.  He  was 
now  one  of  the  greatest  powers  in  Italy,  respected  and 
feared  by  his  neighbors,  the  master  of  twenty  rich  cities, 
and  of  all  the  wealthy  Lombard  plains.  To  these  Car- 
magnola  had  lately  added  the  richest  prize  of  all,  in 
the  humiliation  and  overthrow  of  Genoa,  superbest  of 
northern  towns,  with  her  seaboard  and  trade,  and  all  her 
proud  traditions  of  independence,  the  equal  and  rival  of 
the  great  republic  of  Venice.  Perhaps  this  last  feat  had 
unduly  exalted  the  soldier,  and  made  him  feel  himself  as 
a  conqueror,  something  more  than  the  duke's  humble 
kinsman  and  counselor;  at  all  events,  the  eve  of  the 
change  had  come. 

The  tenure  of  a  favorite's  favor  is  always  uncertain  and 
precarious.  In  those  days  there  were  many  who  rose  to 
the  heights  of  fame  only  to  be  tumbled  headlong  in  a 
moment  from  that  dazzling  eminence.  Carmagnola  was 
at  the  very  height  of  fortune  when  clouds  began  to  gather 
over  his  career,  though  no  idea  of  treachery  was  then 
imputed  to  him;  he  had  been,  if  anything,  too  zealous  for 
his  duke,  to  whose  service  in  the  meantime,  as  to  that  of 
a  great  and  conquering  prince,  full  of  schemes  for  enlarg- 
ing his  own  territory  and  affording  much  occupation  for 
a  brave  soldiery,  many  other  commanders  had  flocked. 
The  enemies  of  Carmagnola  were  many.  Generals  whom 
he  had  beaten  felt  their  downfall  all  the  greater  that  it 
had  been  accomplished  by  a  fellow  without  any  blood 
worth  speaking  of  in  his  veins;  and  others  whom  it  would 
have  pleased  Philip  to  secure  in  his  service  were  too 
proud  to  serve  under  a  man  who  had  thus  risen  from  the 
ranks. 

The  first  sign  which  the  doomed  general  received  of  his 
failing  favor  was  a  demand  from  Philip  for  the  squadron 
of  horsemen,  three  hundred  in  number,  who  seem  to  have 
been  Carmagnola's  special  troop,  and  for  whom  the  duke 
declared  that  he  had  a  particular  use.  The  reply  of  the 
general  is  at  once  picturesque  and  pathetic.  He  implored 
Philip  not  to  take  the  weapons  out  of  the  hands  of  a  man 
born  and  bred  in  the  midst  of  arms,  and  to  whom  life 
would  be  bare  indeed  without  his  soldiers.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  this  was  but  the  thin  end 
of  the  wedge,  and  that  other  indignities  were  prepared  to 
follow.  The  clique  at  Milan  which  was  furthering  his 


BY   SEA    AND   BY   LAND.  177 

downfall  was  led  by  two  courtiers,  Riccio  and  Lampug- 
nano.  "  Much  better,"  says  Bigli,  the  historian  of  Milan, 
who  narrates  diffusely  the  whole  course  of  the  quarrel, 
"  would  it  have  been  for  our  state  had  such  men  as  these 
never  been  born.  They  kept  everything  from  the  duke 
except  what  it  pleased  him  to  learn.  And  it  was  easy  for 
them  to  fill  the  mind  of  Philip  with  suspicions,  for  he 
himself  began  to  wish  that  Francesco  Carmagnola  should 
not  appear  so  great  a  man."  Carmagnola  received  no 
answer  to  his  remonstrance,  and  by  and  by  discovered, 
what  is  galling  in  all  circumstances,  and  in  his  especially 
so,  that  the  matter  had  been  decided  by  the  gossips  of 
the  court,  and  that  it  was  a  conspiracy  of  his  enemies 
which  was  settling  his  fate.  Fierce  and  full  of  irritation, 
a  man  who  could  never  at  any  time  restrain  his  masterful 
temper,  and  still,  no  doubt,  with  much  in  him  of  the  arro- 
gant rustic  whom  Facino  could  not  make  a  captain  of,  lest 
he  should  at  once  clutch  at  the  baton,  Carmagnola  deter- 
mined to  face  his  enemies  and  plead  his  own  cause  before 
his  prince.  The  duke  was  at  Abbiate-grasso,  on  the 
borders  of  Piedmont,  a  frontier  fortress,  within  easy  reach 
of  Genoa,  where  Carmagnola  was  Governor;  and  thither 
he  rode  with  few  attendants,  no  doubt  breathing  fire  and 
flame,  and,  in  his  consciousness  of  all  he  had  done  for 
Philip,  very  confident  of  turning  the  tables  upon  his  mis- 
erable assailants,  and  making  an  end  of  them  and  their 
wiles.  His  letters  had  not  been  answered — no  notice 
whatever  had  been  taken  of  his  appeal;  but  still  it  seemed 
impossible  to  doubt  that  Philip,  with  his  trusty  champion 
before  him,  would  remember  all  that  had  passed  between 
them,  and  all  that  Francesco  had  done,  and  do  him  jus- 
tice. His  swift  setting  out  to  put  all  right,  with  an  angry 
contempt  of  his  assailants,  but  absolute  confidence  in  the 
renewal  of  his  old  influence  as  soon  as  Philip  should  see 
him,  might  be  paralleled  in  many  a  quarrel.  For  nothing 
is  so  difficult  as  to  teach  a  generous  and  impulsive  man 
that  the  friend  for  whom  he  has  done  too  much  may  sud- 
denly become  incapable  of  bearing  the  burden  of  obliga- 
tion and  gratitude. 

Arrived  at  Abbiate,  he  was  about  to  ride  over  the 
bridge  into  the  castle,  when  he  was  stopped  by  the  guards, 
whose  orders  were  to  hinder  his  entrance.  This  to  the 
commander-in-chief  was  an  extraordinary  insult;  but  at 


178  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

first  astonishment  was  the  only  feeling  Carmagnola 
evidenced.  He  sent  word  to  Philip  that  he  was  there 
desiring  an  audience,  and  waited  with  his  handful  of  men, 
the  horses  pawing  the  ground,  their  riders  chafing  at  the 
compulsory  pause,  which  no  one  understood.  But  instead 
of  being  then  admitted  with  apologies  and  excuses,  as 
perhaps  Carmagnola  still  hoped,  the  answer  sent  him 
was  that  Philip  was  busy,  but  that  he  might  communicate 
what  he  had  to  say  to  Riccio.  Curbing  his  rage,  the 
proud  soldier  sent  another  message  to  the  effect  that  he 
had  certain  private  matters  for  the  duke's  ear  alone. 
To  this  no  reply  was  given.  The  situation  is  wonderfully 
striking,  and  full  of  dramatic  force.  Carmagnola  and 
his  handful  of  men  on  one  side  of  the  bridge;  the  castle 
rising  on  the  other  with  all  its  towers  and  bastions  dark 
against  the  sky;  the  half-frightened  yet  half-insolent 
guards  trembling  at  their  own  temerity,  yet  glad  enough 
to  have  a  hand  in  the  discomfiture  of  the  rustic  com- 
mander, the  arrogant  and  high-handed  captain,  who  of 
his  origin  was  no  better  than  they.  The  parley  seems  to 
have  gone  on  for  some  time,  during  which  Carmagnola 
was  held  at  bay  by  the  attendants,  who  would  make  him 
no  answer  other  than  a  continual  reference  to  Riccio,  his 
well-known  enemy.  Then  as  he  scanned  the  dark,  unre- 
sponsive towers  with  angry  eyes,  he  saw,  or  thought  he 
saw,  the  face  of  Philip  himself  at  a  loophole.  This  lit 
the  smoldering  fire  of  passion.  He  raised  his  voice — no 
small  voice  it  may. well  be  believed — and  shouted  forth 
his  message  to  his  ungrateful  master.  "  Since  I  cannot 
speak  before  my  lord  the  duke,"  he  cried,  "I  call  God 
to  witness  my  innocence  and  faithfulness  to  him.  I  have 
not  been  guilty  even  of  imagining  evil  against  him.  I 
have  never  taken  thought  for  myself,  for  my  blood  or  my 
life,  in  comparison  with  the  name  and  power  of  Philip." 
Then,  "carried  on  in  the  insolence  of  his  words,"  says 
the  chronicle,  "  he  accused  the  perfidious  traitors,  and 
called  God  to  witness  that  in  a  short  time  he  would 
make  them  feel  the  want  of  one  whom  the  duke  refused 
to  hear." 

So  speaking,  Carmagnola  turned  his  horse  and  took 
his  way  toward  the  river.  When  the  conspirators  in  the 
castle  saw  the  direction  he  was  taking,  a  thrill  of  alarm 
seems  to  have  moved  them,  and  one  of  them,  Oldrado, 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  179 

dashed  forth  from  the  gate  with  a  band  of  followers  to 
prevent  Carmagnola  from  crossing  the  Ticino,  which  was 
then  the  boundary  of  Savoy.  But  when  he  saw  the  great 
captain  "riding  furiously  across  the  fields"  toward 
Ticino,  the  heart  of  the  pursuer  failed  him.  Carmagnola 
would  seem  never  to  have  paused  to  think, — which  was 
not  the  fashion  of  his  time, — but,  carried  along  in  head- 
long impulse,  wild  with  the  thought  of  his  dozen  years  of 
service,  all  forgotten  in  a  moment,  did  not  draw  bridle 
till  he  reached  the  castle  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  his  native 
prince,  to  whom  he  immediately  offered  himself  and  his 
services,  telling  the  story  of  his  wrong.  Notwithstand- 
ing his  fury,  he  seems  to  have  exonerated  Philip — a 
doubtful  compliment,  since  he  held  him  up  to  the  con- 
tempt of  his  brother  potentate  as  influenced  by  the  rabble 
of  his  court,  "the  singers,  actors,  and  inventors  of  all 
crimes,  who  make  use  of  the  labors  of  others  in  order  to 
live  in  sloth. "  Mere  vituperation  of  Philip's  advisers,  how- 
ever, was  not  to  the  purpose,  and  Carmagnola  artfully 
suggested  to  Duke  Amadeo  certain  towns  more  justly 
his  than  Philip's:  Asti,  Alessandria,  and  others,  which  it 
would  be  easy  to  withdraw  from  the  yoke  of  Milan.  It 
must  have  been  difficult  for  a  fifteenth-century  prince  to 
resist  such  an  argument,  but  Amadeo,  though  strongly 
tempted,  was  not  powerful  enough  to  declare  war  by 
himself  against  the  great  Duke  of  Milan;  and  the  fiery 
visitor,  leaving  excitement  and  commotion  behind  him, 
continued  his  journey,  making  his  way  across  a  spur  of 
the  Pennine  Alps,  by  Trient  and  Treviso  (but  as  secretly 
as  possible,  lest  the  Swiss,  whom  he  had  beaten,  should 
hear  of  his  passage  and  rise  against  him),  till  he  reached 
Venice,  to  stir  up  a  still  more  effectual  ferment  there. 

We  are  now  brought  back  to  our  city,  where  for  some 
time  past  the  proceedings  of  Philip,  and  the  progress  he 
was  making,  especially  the  downfall  of  Genoa,  had  filled 
the  Signoria  with  alarm.  The  Venetians  must  have 
looked  on  with  very  mingled  feelings  at  the  overthrow  of 
the  other  republic,  their  own  great  and  unfailing  enemy, 
with  whom,  over  and  over  again,  they  had  struggled 
almost  to  the  death,  yet  who  could  not  be  seen  to  fall 
under  the  power  of  a  conqueror  with  any  kind  of  satis- 
faction. The  Florentines,  too,  had  begun  to  stir  in  con- 
sternation and  amaze,  and  communications  had  passed 


180  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

between  the  two  great  cities  even  in  the  time  of  the 
Doge  Mocenigo,  the  predecessor  of  Foscari,  who  was  the 
occupant  of  the  ducal  throne  at  the  time  of  Carmagnola's 
sudden  appearance  on  the  scene.  Old  Mocenigo  had  not 
favored  the  alliance  with  the  Florentines.  There  is  a 
long  speech  of  his  recorded  by  Sanudo  which  reminds  us 
of  the  pleadings  in  Racine's  comedy,  where  the  sham 
advocates  go  back  to  the  foundation  of  the  world  for 
their  arguments — and  which  affords  us  a  singular  glimpse 
of  the  garrulous  and  vehement  old  man,  who  hated  his 
probable  successor,  and  the  half  of  whose  rambling  dis- 
course is  addressed,  it  would  seem,  personally  to  Foscari, 
then  junior  procurator,  who  had  evidently  taken  up  the 
cause  of  the  neighboring  republics. 

"  Our  junior  procurator  (i>rocuratore  giovane),  Ser  Francesco  Foscari, 
Savio  del  Consiglio,  has  declared  to  the  public  (sopra  Varringo)  all  that 
the  Florentines  have  said  to  the  council  and  all  that  we  have  said  to 
your  Excellencies  in  reply.  He  says  that  it  is  well  to  succor  the 
Florentines,  because  their  good  is  our  good,  and,  in  consequence,  their 
evil  is  our  evil.  In  due  time  and  place  we  reply  to  this.  Procuratore 
giovane  :  God  created  and  made  the  angelical  nature,  which  is  the  most 
noble  of  all  created  things,  and  gave  it  certain  limits  by  which  it  should 
follow  the  way  of  good  and  not  of  evil.  The  angels  chose  the  bad 
way  that  leads  to  evil.  God  punished  them  and  banished  them  from 
Paradise  to  the  Inferno,  and  from  being  good  they  became  bad.  This 
same  thing  we  say  to  the  Florentines  who  come  here  seeking  the  evil 
way.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  us  if  we  consent  to  that  which  our  junior 
procurator  has  said.  But  take  comfort  to  yourselves  that  you  live  in 
peace.  If  ever  the  Duke  [of  Milan]  makes  unjust  war  against  you,  God 
is  with  you,  Who  sees  all.  He  will  so  arrange  it  that  you  shall  have 
the  victory.  Let  us  live  in  peace,  for  God  is  peace  ;  and  he  who  desires 
war,  let  him  go  to  perdition.  Procuratore  giovane  :  God  created  Adam 
wise,  good,  and  perfect,  and  gave  him  the  earthly  Paradise,  where  was 
peace,  with  two  commandments,  saying,  '  Enjoy  peace  with  all  that  is 
in  Paradise,  but  eat  not  the  fruit  of  a  certain  tree.'  And  he  was  dis- 
obedient and  sinned  in  pride,  not  being  willing  to  acknowledge  that 
he  was  merely  a  creature.  And  God  deprived  him  of  Paradise,  where 
peace  dwells,  and  drove  him  out  and  put  him  in  war,  which  is  this 
world,  and  cursed  him  and  all  human  generations.  And  one  brother 
killed  the  other,  going  from  bad  to  worse.  Thus  it  will  happen  to  the 
Florentines  for  their  fighting  which  they  have  among  themselves.  And 
if  we  follow  the  counsel  of  our  junior  procurator  thus  will  it  happen  also 
to  us.  Procuratore  giovane  :  After  the  sin  of  Cain,  who  knew  not  his 
Creator  nor  did  His  will,  God  punished  the  world  by  the  flood,  except, 
ing  Noah,  whom  He  preserved.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Florentines 
in  their  determination  to  have  their  own  way,  that  God  will  destroy  their 
country  and  their  possessions,  and  they  will  come  to  dwell  here,  in  the 
same  way  as  families  with  their  women  and  children  came  to  dwell  in 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  l8l 

the  city  of  Noah,  who  obeyed  God  and  trusted  in  Him.  Otherwise,  if 
we  follow  the  counsel  of  our  junior  procurator,  our  people  will  have  to 
go  away  and  dwell  in  strange  lands.  Procuratore  giovane  :  Noah  was  a 
holy  man  elect  of  God,  and  Cain  departed  from  God  ;  the  which  slew 
Japhet  (Abel  ?)  and  God  punished  him  ;  of  whom  were  born  the  giants, 
who  were  tyrants  and  did  whatever  seemed  good  in  their  own  eyes,  not 
fearing  God.  God  made  of  one  language  sixty-six,  and  at  the  end  they 
destroyed  each  other,  so  that  there  remained  no  one  of  the  seed  of  the 
giants.  Thus  will  it  happen  to  the  Florentines  for  seeking  their  own 
will  and  not  fearing  God.  Of  their  language  sixty-six  languages  will  be 
made.  For  they  go  out  day  by  day  into  ¥  ranee,  Germany,  Languedoc, 
Catalonia,  Hungary,  and  throughout  Italy  ;  and  they  will  thus  be  dis- 
persed, so  that  no  man  will  be  able  to  say  that  he  is  of  Florence.  Thus 
will  it  be  if  we  follow  the  advice  of  our  junior  procurator.  Therefore, 
fear  God  and  hope  in  Him." 

We  can  almost  see  the  old  man,  with  fiery  eyes  and 
moist  mouth,  stammering  forth  these  angry  maunderings, 
leaning  across  the  council  table,  with  his  fierce  personal 
designation  of  the  procuratore  giovane,  the  proud  young 
man  in  his  strength,  whom  not  all  the  vituperations  of 
old  Mocenigo,  or  his  warnings  to  the  council,  could  keep 
out  of  the  ducal  chair  so  soon  as  death  made  it  vacant. 
And  there  is  somewhat  very  curious  in  this  confused 
jumble  of  arguments,  so  inconsequent,  so  earnest — the 
old  man's  love  of  peace  and  a  quiet  life  mingled  with  the 
cunning  of  the  aged  mediaeval  statesman  who  could  not 
disabuse  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  the  destruction  of 
Florence  would  swell  the  wealth  of  Venice.  In  the  latter 
part  of  the  long,  rambling  discourse,  mixed  up  with  all 
manner  of  Scripture  parallels  not  much  more  to  the 
purpose  than  those  above  quoted,  the  speaker  returns 
to  and  insists  upon  the  advantage  to  be  gained  by  Venice 
from  the  influx  of  refugees  from  all  the  neighboring  cities. 
"  If  the  duke  takes  Florence,"  cries  the  old  man,  "the 
Florentines,  who  are  accustomed  to  live  in  equality,  will 
leave  Florence  and  come  to  Venice,  and  bring  with  them 
the  silk  trade,  and  the  manufacture  of  wool,  so  that 
their  country  will  be  without  trade,  and  Venice  will  grow 
rich,  as  happened  in  the  case  of  Lucca  when  it  fell  into 
the  hands  of  a  tyrant.  The  trade  of  Lucca  and  its 
wealth  came  to  Venice,  and  Lucca  became  poor.  Where- 
fore, remain  in  peace." 

Romanin,  always  watchful  for  the  credit  of  Venice, 
attempts  to  throw  some  doubt  upon  this  wonderful 
speech,  which,  however,  is  given  on  the  same  authority 


182  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

as  that  which  gives  us  old  Mocenigo's  report  of  the 
accounts  of  the  republic  and  his  words  of  warning 
against  Foscari,  which  are  admitted  to  be  authentic. 
It  gives  us  a  remarkable  view  of  the  mixture  of  wisdom 
and  folly,  astute  calculation  of  the  most  fiercely  selfish 
kind,  and  irrelevant  argument,  which  is  characteristic  of 
the  age. 

It  was  in  the  year  1421  that  Mocenigo  thus  discoursed. 
He  died  two  years  later  at  the  age  of  eighty,  and  the 
procuratore  giovane,  whom  he  had  addressed  so  fiercely, 
succeeded  as  the  old  man  foresaw.  He  was  that  Fran- 
cesco Foscari  whose  cruel  end  we  have  already  seen,  but 
at  this  time  in  all  the  force  and  magnificence  of  his  man- 
hood, and  with  a  great  career  before  him — or,  at  least, 
with  a  great  episode  of  Venetian  history,  a  period  full  of 
agitation,  victory,  and  splendor  before  the  city  under  his 
rule.  When  Carmagnola,  in  hot  revolt,  and  breathing 
nothing  but  projects  of  vengeance,  arrived  within  the 
precincts  of  the  republic,  a  great  change  had  taken  place 
in  the  views  of  the  Venetians.  The  Florentine  envoys 
had  been  received  with  sympathy  and  interest,  and  as 
Philip's  troops  approached  nearer  and  nearer,  threaten- 
ing their  very  city,  the  Venetian  government,  though 
not  yet  moved  to  active  interference,  had  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  make  a  protest  and  appeal  to  Philip,  to  whom 
they  were  still  bound  by  old  alliances  made  in  Mocenigo's 
time,  in  favor  of  the  sister  republic.  Rivalships  there 
might  be  in  time  of  peace;  but  the  rulers  of  Venice  could 
not  but  regard  "  with  much  gravity  and  lament  deeply 
the  adversity  of  a  free  people,  determining  that  whoso- 
ever would  retain  the  friendship  of  Venice  should  be 
at  peace  with  Florence."  The  envoy  or  orator,  Paolo 
Cornaro,  who  was  sent  with  this  protest,  presented  it  in 
a  speech  reported  by  the  chronicler  Sabellico,  in  which, 
with  much  dignity,  he  enjoins  and  urges  upon  Philip  the 
determination  of  the  republic.  Venetians  and  Floren- 
tines both  make  short  work  with  the  independence  of 
others;  but  yet  there  is  something  noble  in  the  air  with 
which  they  vindicate  their  own. 

Nothing  [says  Cornaro]  is  more  dear  to  the  Venetians  than  freedom, 
to  the  preservation  of  which  they  are  called  by  justice,  mercy,  religion, 
and  every  other  law,  both  public  and  private  ;  counting  nothing  more 
praiseworthy  than  what  is  done  to  this  end.  And  neither  treaties  nor 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  183 

laws,  nor  any  other  reason,  divine  or  human,  can  make  them  depart 
from  this,  that  before  everything  freedom  must  be  secured.  And  in  so 
far  as  regards  the  present  case,  the  Venetians  hold  themselves  as  much 
bound  to  bestir  themselves  when  Florence  is  in  danger  as  if  the  army  of 
Philip  was  on  the  frontier  of  their  own  dominion  ;  for  it  becomes  those 
who  have  freedom  themselves  to  be  careful  of  that  of  others  ;  and  as  the 
republican  forms  of  government  possessed  by  Florence  resemble  greatly 
their  own,  their  case  is  like  that  of  those  who  suffer  no  less  in  the  suffer- 
ings of  their  brethren  and  relations  than  if  the  misfortune  was  theirs. 
Nor  is  there  any  doubt  that  he  who  in  Tuscany  contends  against  freedom 
in  every  other  place  will  do  the  same,  as  is  the  custom  of  tyrants — who 
have  ever  the  name  of  freedom  in  abhorrence. 

The  speaker  ends  by  declaring  that  if  Philip  carries  on 
his  assaults  against  the  Florentines,  Venice  for  her  own 
safety,  as  well  as  for  that  of  her  sister  city,  will  declare 
war  against  him  as  a  tyrant  and  an  enemy.  "  This  ora- 
tion much  disturbed  the  soul  of  Philip."  But  he  was  full 
of  the  intoxication  of  success,  and  surrounded  by  a  light- 
hearted  court,  to  whom  victory  had  become  a  com- 
mon-place. The  giovanotti  dishonestissimi,  foolish  young 
courtiers  who,  from  the  time  of  King  Rehoboam,  have  led 
young  princes  astray,  whose  jeers  and  wiles  had  driven 
Carmagnolo  to  despair,  were  not  to  be  daunted  by  the 
grave  looks  of  the  noble  Venetian,  whom,  no  doubt,  they 
felt  themselves  capable  of  laughing  and  flattering  out  of 
his  seriousness. 

The  next  scene  of  the  drama  takes  place  in  Venice,  to 
which  Philip  sent  an  embassy  to  answer  the  mission  of 
Cornaro,  led  by  the  same  Oldrado  who  had  made  that 
ineffectual  rush  after  Carmagnola  from  the  castle  gates, 
and  who  was  one  of  his  chief  enemies.  An  embassy 
from  Florence  arrived  at  the  same  time,  and  the  pres- 
ence of  these  two  opposing  bands  filled  with  interest  and 
excitement  the  City  of  the  Sea,  where  a  new  thing  was 
received  with  as  much  delight  as  in  Athens  of  old,  and 
where  the  warlike  spirit  was  always  so  ready  to  light  up. 
The  keen  eyes  of  the  townsfolk  seized  at  once  upon  the 
difference  so  visible  in  the  two  parties.  The  Milanese, 
ruffling  in  their  fine  clothes,  went  about  the  city  gayly, 
as  if  they  had  come  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  see  the 
sights,  which,  says  Bigli,  who  was  himself  of  Milan,  and 
probably  thought  a  great  deal  too  much  fuss  was  made 
about  this  wonderful  sea-city,  seemed  ridiculous  to  the 
Venetians,  so  that  they  almost  believed  the  duke  was 


184  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

making  a  jest  of  them.  The  Florentines,  on  the  con- 
trary, grave  as  was  their  fashion,  and  doubly  serious  in 
the  dangerous  position  of  their  affairs,  went  about  the 
streets  "as  if  in  mourning,"  eagerly  addressing  every- 
body who  might  be  of  service  to  them.  Sabellico  gives  a 
similar  account  of  the  two  parties: 

There  might  then  be  seen  in  the  city  divers  ambassadors  of  divers 
demeanor  [he  says].  Lorenzo  (the  Florentine),  as  was  befitting, 
showed  the  sadness  and  humble  condition  of  his  country,  seeking  to 
speak  with  the  senators  even  in  the  streets,  following  them  to  their 
houses,  and  neglecting  nothing  which  might  be  to  the  profit  of  the 
embassy.  On  the  other  hand,  those  of  Philip,  not  to  speak  of  their 
pomp,  and  decorations  of  many  kinds,  full  of  hope  and  confidence, 
went  gazing  about  the  city  so  marvelously  built,  such  as  they  had  never 
seen  before,  full  of  wonder  how  all  these  things  of  the  earth  could  be 
placed  upon  the  sea.  And  they  replied  cheerfully  to  all  who  saluted 
them  ;  showing  in  their  faces,  in  their  eyes,  by  all  they  said,  and,  in 
short,  by  every  outward  sign  of  satisfaction,  the  prosperity  of  their  duke 
and  country. 

The  dark  figure  of  the  Florentine,  awaiting  anxiously 
the  red-robed  senator  as  he  made  his  way  across  the 
Piazza,  or  hurrying  after  him  through  the  narrow 
thoroughfares,  while  this  gay  band,  in  all  their  finery, 
swept  by,  must  have  made  an  impressive  comment  upon 
the  crisis  in  which  so  much  was  involved.  While  the 
Milanese  swam  in  a  gondola,  or  gazed  at  the  marbles  on 
the  walls,  or  here  and  there  an  early  mosaic,  all  blazing, 
like  themselves,  in  crimson  and  gold,  the  ambassador, 
upon  whose  pleading  hung  the  dear  life  of  Florence, 
haunted  the  bridges  and  the  street-corners,  letting 
nobody  pass  that  could  help  him.  "  How  goes  the  cause 
to-day,  illustrious  signor? "  one  can  hear  him  saying. 
"  What  hope  for  my  country,  lapatria  mta?  Will  the  noble 
Signoria  hear  me  speak?  Will  it  be  given  me  to  plead 
my  cause  before  their  Magnificences?"  Or  in  a  bolder 
tone,  "Our  cause  is  yours,  most  noble  sir,  though  it  may 
not  seem  so  now.  If  Philip  sets  his  foot  on  the  neck  of 
Florence,  which  never  shall  be  while  I  live,  how  long  will 
it  be,  think  you,  before  his  trumpets  sound  at  Mestre 
over  the  marshes;  before  he  has  stirred  your  Istrians  to 
revolt? "  The  senators  passing  to  and  fro,  perhaps  in 
the  early  morning  after  a  long  night  in  the  council 
chamber,  as  happened  sometimes,  had  their  steps  way- 
laid by  this  earnest  advocate.  The  Venetians  were  more 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  185 

given  to  gayety  than  their  brothers  from  the  Arno, 
but  they  were  men  who  before  everything  else  cared  for 
their  constitution,  so  artfully  and  skillfully  formed — for 
their  freedom,  such  as  it  was,  and  the  proud  independ- 
ence which  no  alien  force  had  ever  touched;  and  the 
stranger  with  his  rugged  Tuscan  features  and  dark  dress, 
and  keen  inharmonious  accent,  among  all  their  soft 
Venetian  talk,  no  doubt  impressed  the  imagination  of  a 
susceptible  race.  Whereas  the  Milanese  gallants,  in 
their  gayety  affecting  to  see  no  serious  object  in  their 
mission,  commended  themselves  only  to  the  light-minded, 
not  to  the  fathers  of  the  city.  And  when  Carmagnola, 
the  great  soldier,  known  of  all  men, — he  who  had  set 
Philip  back  upon  his  throne  as  everybody  knew,  and  won 
so  many  battles  and  cities, — with  all  the  romantic  interest 
of  a  hero  and  an  injured  man,  came  across  the  lagoon 
and  landed  at  the  Piazzetta  between  the  fatal  pillars,  how 
he  and  his  scarred  and  bearded  men-at-arms  must  have 
looked  at  the  gay  courtiers  with  their  jests  and  laughter, 
who,  on  their  side,  could  scarcely  fail  to  shrink  a  little 
when  the  man  whose  ruin  they  had  plotted  went  past 
them  to  say  his  say  before  the  Signoria,  in  a  sense 
fatally  different  from  theirs,  as  they  must  have  known. 

The  speeches  of  these  contending  advocates  are  all 
given  at  length  in  the  minute  and  graphic  chronicle. 
The  first  to  appear  before  the  doge  and  Senate  was 
Lorenzo  Ridolfi,  the  Florentine,  who  conjoins  his  earnest 
pleading  for  aid  to  his  own  state  with  passionate  admoni- 
tions and  warnings,  that  if  Venice  gives  no  help  to  avert 
the  consequence,  her  fate  will  soon  be  the  same. 
"  Serene  Prince  and  illustrious  senators,"  he  cries,  "even 
if  I  were  silent  you  would  understand  what  I  came  here 
to  seek. 

' '  And  those  also  would  understand  who  have  seen  us  leave  Tuscany 
and  come  here  in  haste,  ambassadors  from  a  free  city,  to  ask  your  favor, 
and  help  for  the  protection  of  our  liberties,  from  a  free  people  like  your- 
selves. The  object  of  all  my  speaking  is  this,  to  induce  you  to  grant 
safety  to  my  country,  which  has  brought  forth  and  bred  me,  and  given 
me  honor  and  credit — which  if  I  can  attain,  and  that  you  should  join  the 
confederation  and  friendship  of  the  Florentines,  and  join  your  army  with 
our  Tuscans  against  the  crudest  tyrant,  enemy  of  our  liberties,  and 
hating  yours,  happy  shall  be  my  errand,  and  my  country  will  embrace 
me  with  joy  on  my  return.  And  our  citizens,  who  live  in  this  sole  hope, 
will  hold  themselves  and  their  city  by  your  bounty  alone  to  be  saved 


l86  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

from  every  peril.  .  .  I  tremble,  noble  Prince,  in  this  place  to  say  that 
which  I  feel  in  my  soul ;  but,  because  it  is  necessary,  I  will  say  it.  If 
you  will  not  make  this  alliance  with  us,  Philip  will  find  himself  able 
without  help,  having  overthrown  Florence,  to  secure  also  the  dominion  of 
Venice.  If  it  should  be  answered  me  that  the  Venetians  always  keep 
their  promises  and  engagements,  I  pray  and  implore  the  most  high  God 
that,  having  given  you  goodness  and  faith  to  keep  your  promises,  He 
would  give  you  to  know  the  arts  and  motives  of  this  tyrant,  and  after 
discovering  them,  with  mature  prudence  to  restrain  and  overrule 
them.  .  .  That  tyrant  himself,  who  has  so  often  broken  all  laws,  both 
divine  and  human,  will  himself  teach  you  not  to  keep  that  which  he,  in 
his  perfidy,  has  not  kept.  But  already  your  tacit  consent  gives  me  to 
understand  that  I  have  succeeded  in  convincing  you  that  in  this  oration 
I  seek  not  so  much  the  salvation  of  my  republic  as  the  happiness,  dignity, 
and  increase  of  your  own." 

This  speech  moved  the  senators  greatly,  but  did  not 
settle  the  question,  their  minds  being  divided  between 
alarm,  sympathy,  and  prudence, — fear  of  Philip  on  the 
one  hand  and  of  expense  on  the  other, — so  that  they 
resolved  to  hear  Philip's  ambassadors  first  before  coming 
to  any  decision.  Time  was  given  to  the  orator  of  the 
Milan  party  to  prepare  his  reply  to  Ridolfi,  which  he 
made  in  a  speech  full  of  bravado,  declaring  that  he  and 
his  fellows  were  sent,  not  to  make  any  league  or  peace 
with  Venice,  since  their  former  treaties  were  still  in  full 
force,  and  any  renewal  was  unnecessary  between  such 
faithful  allies — but  simply  to  salute  the  illustrious  Signo- 
ria  in  Philip's  name. 

"  But  since  these  people,  who  have  by  nature  the  gift  of  speech,  deli- 
cate and  false,  have  not  only  to  the  Senate,  but  in  the  Piazza  and  by  the 
streets,  with  pitiful  lamentations,  wept  their  fate,  declaring  that  the  war 
which  they  have  carried  on  so  badly  was  begun  by  Philip  ;  he  desires  to 
leave  it  to  your  judgment,  not  refusing  any  conditions  which  you  may 
prescribe.  What  they  say  is  false  and  vain,  unheard  of  things,  such  as 
they  are  accustomed  to  study  in  order  to  abuse  your  gravity,  your  con- 
stancy, the  ancient  laws  of  friendship,  and  all  the  treaties  made  with 
Philip.  They  bid  you  fear  him  and  the  increase  of  his  power.  But  you 
know  they  are  our  enemies  who  speak.  They  tell  you  that  kings  hate 
the  name  of  republics.  .  .  It  is  true  that  King  Louis  was  a  cruel 
enemy  of  the  Venetian  name,  and  all  the  house  of  Carrara  were  your 
enemies.  But  the  Visconti,  who  for  a  hundred  years  have  flourished  in 
the  noble  duchy  of  Milan,  were  always  friends  of  the  Venetian  repub- 
lic. .  .  Philip  has  had  good  reasons  to  war  against  the  Florentines,  and 
so  have  all  the  Visconti.  They  ought  to  accuse  themselves,  their  pride 
and  avarice,  not  Philip,  who  is  the  friend  of  peace  and  repose,  the  very 
model  of  liberality  and  courtesy.  Let  them  therefore  cease  to  abuse 
and  injure  our  noble  duke  in  your  presence.  Being  provoked,  we  have 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  187 

answered  in  these  few  words,  though  we  might  have  said  many  more ; 
which  are  so  true  that  they  themselves  (although  they  are  liars)  do  not 
venture  to  contradict  them." 

This  address  did  not  throw  much  light  upon  the  sub- 
ject, and  left  the  Senate  in  as  much  difficulty  as  if  it  had 
been  an  English  Cabinet  Council  at  certain  recent  periods 
of  our  own  history.  "Diverse  opinions  and  various 
decisions  were  agitated  among  the  senators.  Some 
declared  that  it  was  best  to  oppose  in  open  war  the  forces 
of  Philip,  who  would  otherwise  deceive  them  with  fair 
words  until  he  had  overcome  the  Florentines.  Others 
said  that  to  leap  into  such  an  undertaking  would  be  mere 
temerity,  adding  that  it  was  an  easy  thing  to  begin  a  war 
but  difficult  to  end  it."  The  Senate  of  Venice  had,  how- 
ever, another  pleader  at  hand,  whose  eloquence  was  more 
convincing.  When  they  had  confused  themselves  with 
arguments  for  and  against,  the  doge,  whose  views  were 
warlike,  called  for  Carmagnola,  who  had  been  waiting  in 
unaccustomed  inaction  to  know  what  was  to  happen  to 
him.  All  his  wrongs  had  been  revived  by  an  attempt 
made  to  poison  him  in  his  retreat  at  Treviso  by  a  Mila- 
nese exile  who  was  sheltered  there,  and  who  hoped  by 
this  good  deed  to  conciliate  Philip  and  purchase  his 
recall — a  man  who,  like  Carmagnola,  had  married  a 
Visconti,  and  perhaps  had  some  private  family  hatred  to 
quicken  his  patriotic  zeal.  The  attempt  had  been  unsuc- 
cessful, and  the  would-be  assassin  had  paid  for  it  by  his 
life.  But  the  result  had  been  to  light  into  wilder  flame 
than  ever  the  fire  of  wrong  in  the  fierce  heart  of  the  great 
captain,  whose  love  had  been  turned  into  hatred  by  the 
ingratitude  of  his  former  masters  and  friends.  He 
appeared  before  the  wavering  statesmen,  who,  between 
their  ducats  and  their  danger,  could  not  come  to  any 
decision,  flaming  with  wrath  and  energy.  "  Being  of  a 
haughty  nature,  una  natura  sdegnosa,  he  spoke  bitterly 
against  Philip  and  his  ingratitude  and  perfidy,"  describ- 
ing in  hot  words  his  own  struggles  and  combats,  the 
cities  he  had  brought  under  Philip's  sway,  and  the  fame 
he  had  procured  him,  so  that  his  name  was  known  not 
only  throughout  all  Italy,  but  even  through  Europe,  as 
the  master  of  Genoa.  The  rewards  which  Carmagnola 
had  received,  he  declared  proudly,  were  not  rewards,  but 
his  just  hire  and  no  more.  And  now  quell'  ingrato,  whom 


1 88  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

he  had  served  so  well,  had  not  only  wounded  his  heart 
and  his  good  name,  for  the  sake  of  a  set  of  lying  youths, 
— giovanotti  dishonestissimi, — and  forced  him  into  exile,  but 
finally  had  attempted  to  kill  him.  But  yet  he  had  not 
been  without  good  fortune,  in  that  he  was  preserved  from 
this  peril;  and  though  he  had  lost  the  country  in  which 
he  had  left  wife  and  children  and  much  wealth,  yet  had 
he  found  another  country  where  were  justice,  bounty,  and 
every  virtue — where  every  man  got  his  due,  and  place 
and  dignity  were  not  given  to  villains!  After  this  out- 
burst of  personal  feeling,  Carmagnola  entered  fully  into 
the  weightier  parts  of  the  matter,  giving  the  eager  sena- 
tors to  understand  that  Philip  was  not  so  strong  as  he 
seemed;  that  his  money  was  exhausted,  his  citizens 
impoverished,  his  soldiers  in  arrears;  that  he  himself, 
Carmagnola,  had  been  the  real  cause  of  most  of  his 
triumphs;  and  that  with  his  guidance  and  knowledge  the 
Florentines  themselves  were  stronger  than  Philip,  the 
Venetians  much  stronger.  He  ended  by  declaring  him- 
self and  all  his  powers  at  their  service,  promising  not 
only  to  conquer  Philip,  but  to  increase  the  territory  of 
the  Venetians.  Greater  commanders  they  might  have, 
and  names  more  honored,  but  none  of  better  faith  toward 
Venice,  or  of  greater  hatred  toward  the  enemy. 

Carmagnola's  speech  is  not  given  in  the  first  person 
like  the  others.  By  the  time  the  narrative  was  written 
his  tragic  history  was  over,  and  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  was  first  received  had  become  a  thing  to  be 
lightly  dwelt  upon,  where  it  could  not  be  ignored  alto- 
gether; but  it  is  easy  to  see  the  furious  and  strong 
personal  feeling  of  the  man,  injured  and  longing  for 
revenge,  his  heart  torn  with  the  serpent's  tooth  of  in- 
gratitude, the  bitterness  of  love  turned  into  hate.  So 
strong  was  the  impression  made  by  these  hoarse  and 
thrilling  accents  of  reality  that  the  doubters  were  moved 
to  certainty,  and  almost  all  pronounced  for  war.  At  the 
risk  of  over-prolonging  this  report  of  the  Venetian 
Cabinet  council  and  its  proceedings,  we  are  tempted  to 
quote  a  portion  of  the  speech  of  the  doge,  in  which  the 
reader  will  scarcely  fail  to  see  on  the  contrary  side  some 
reflection  or  recollection  of  old  Mocenigo's  argument 
which  had  been  launched  at  his  successor's  head  only  a 
few  years  before. 


BY   SEA    AND   BY   LAND.  189 

"  There  are  two  things  in  a  republic,  noble  fathers,  which  by  name 
and  effect  are  sweet  and  gentle,  but  which  are  often  the  occasion  of  much 
trouble  to  the  great  and  noble  city — these  are  peace  and  economy.  For 
there  are  dangers  both  distant  and  under  our  eyes,  which  either  we  do 
not  see,  or  seeing  them,  being  too  much  devoted  to  saving  money,  or  to 
peace,  esteem  them  little,  so  that  almost  always  we  are  drawn  into  very 
evident  peril  before  we  will  consider  the  appalling  name  of  war,  or  come 
to  manifest  harm  to  avoid  the  odious  name  of  expense.  This  fact,  by 
which  much  harm  and  ruin  has  been  done  in  our  times,  and  which  has 
also  been  recorded  for  us  by  our  predecessors,  is  now  set  before  us  in 
an  example  not  less  useful  than  clear  in  the  misfortunes  of  the  Floren- 
tines, who,  when  they  saw  the  power  of  Philip  increasing,  might  many 
times  have  restrained  it,  and  had  many  occasions  of  so  doing,  but  would 
not,  in  order  to  avoid  the  great  expense.  But  now  it  has  come  to  pass 
that  the  money  which  they  acquired  in  peace  and  repose  must  be  spent 
uselessly  ;  and  what  is  more  to  be  lamented,  they  can  neither  attain  peace, 
save  at  the  cost  of  their  freedom,  nor  put  an  end  to  their  expenditure. 
I  say,  then,  that  such  dangers  ought  to  be  considered,  and  being  con- 
sidered, ought  to  be  provided  for  by  courage  and  counsel.  To  guide  a 
republic  is  like  guiding  a  ship  at  sea.  I  ask  if  any  captain,  the  sea 
being  quiet  and  the  wind  favorable,  ceases  to  steer  the  ship,  or  gives 
himself  up  to  sleep  and  repose  without  thinking  of  the  dangers  that  may 
arise  ;  without  keeping  in  order  the  sails,  the  masts,  the  cordage,  or  tak- 
ing into  consideration  the  sudden  changes  to  which  the  sea  is  subject ;  the 
season  of  the  year  ;  by  what  wind  and  in  what  part  of  the  sea  lies  his 
course  ;  what  depth  of  water  and  what  rocks  his  vessel  may  encounter  ? 
If  these  precautions  are  neglected,  and  he  is  assailed  by  sudden  misfor- 
tune, does  he  not  deserve  to  lose  his  ship,  and  with  it  everything?  A 
similar  misfortune  has  happened  to  the  Florentines,  as  it  must  happen  to 
others  who  do  not  take  precautions  against  future  dangers  to  the  republic. 
The  Florentines  (not  to  have  recourse  to  another  example)  might  have 
repressed  and  overcome  the  power  of  Philip  when  it  was  growing,  if 
they  had  taken  the  trouble  to  use  their  opportunities.  But  by  negligence, 
or  rather  by  avarice,  they  refrained  from  doing  so.  And  now  it  has 
come  about  that,  beaten  in  war,  with  the  loss  of  their  forces,  they  are  in 
danger  of  losing  their  liberty.  And  to  make  it  worse,  they  are  con- 
demned everywhere,  and  instead  of  being  called  industrious  are  called 
vile,  and  held  in  good  repute  by  none  ;  instead  of  prudent  are  called 
fools  ;  and  instead  of  getting  credit  for  their  wariness  are  esteemed  to 
be  without  intelligence.  These  evils,  therefore,  ought  to  be  provided 
against  when  far  off,  which,  when  near,  can  cause  such  serious  evil." 

Words  so  plain  and  honest,  and  which  are  so  germane 
to  the  matter,  come  to  us  strangely  from  under  the 
gilded  roofs  of  the  ducal  palace,  and  from  the  midst  of 
the  romance  and  glory  of  mediaeval  Venice.  But  Venice 
was  the  nation  of  shopkeepers  in  those  days  which  Eng- 
land is  said  to  be  now,  and  was  subject  to  many  of  the 
same  dangers  which  menace  ourselves — though  wrath 
was  more  prompt,  and  the  balance  of  well-being  swayed 


1 90  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

more  swiftly,  both  toward  downfall  and  recovery,  than  is 
possible  in  our  larger  concerns. 

"  The  energetic  speech  and  great  influence  of  the  doge, 
which  was  greater  than  that  of  any  prince  before  him," 
says  the  chronicler  (alas  !  though,  this  was  that  same 
Francesco  Foscari  who  died  in  downfall  and  misery, 
deposed  from  his  high  place),  settled  the  matter.  The 
league  was  made  with  the  Florentines,  war  declared 
against  the  Duke  of  Milan,  and  Carmagnola  appointed 
general  of  the  forces.  The  Senate  sent  messengers,  we 
are  told,  through  all  Italy  to  seek  recruits,  but  in  the 
meantime  set  in  movement  those  who  were  ready;  while 
Carmagnola,  like  a  valorous  captain,  began  to  contrive 
how  he  could  begin  the  war  with  some  great  deed.  It 
does  not  quite  accord  with  our  ideas  that  the  first  great 
deed  which  he  planned  was  to  secure  the  assassination  of 
the  Governor  of  Brescia  and  betrayal  of  that  city,  which 
is  the  account  given  by  Sabellico.  Bigli,  however,  puts 
the  matter  in  a  better  light,  explaining  that  many  in  the 
city  were  inclined  to  follow  Carmagnola,  who  had  once 
already  conquered  the  town  for  Philip,  who  had  always 
maintained  their  cause  in  Milan,  and  whose  wrongs  had 
thus  doubly  attracted  their  sympathy.  The  city  was 
asleep  and  all  was  still  when,  with  the  aid  from  within 
of  two  brothers,  huomini  di  anima  grande,  the  wall  was 
breached,  and  Carmagnola  got  possession  of  Brescia. 
"It  was  about  midnight,  in  the  month  of  March,  on  the 
last  day  of  Lent,  which  is  sacred  to  St.  Benedict,"  when 
the  Venetian  troops  marched  into  the  apparently  unsus- 
pecting town.  The  scene  is  picturesque  in  the  highest 
degree.  They  marched  into  the  Piazza,  the  center  of 
all  city  life,  in  the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  spring  night, 
and  there,  with  sudden  blare  of  trumpets  and  illumina- 
tion of  torches,  proclaimed  the  sovereignty  of  Venice. 
It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  sudden  panic,  the  frightened 
faces  at  the  windows,  the  glare  of  the  wild  light  that  lit 
up  the  palace  fronts  and  showed  the  dark  mass  of  the 
great  cathedral  rising  black  and  silent  behind,  while 
the  horses  pawed  the  ringing  stones  of  the  pavement 
and  the  armor  shone.  The  historian  goes  on  to  say: 
"Though  at  first  dismayed  by  the  clang  of  the  trumpets 
and  arms,  the  inhabitants,  as  soon  as  they  perceived  it  was 
Carmagnola,  remained  quiet  in  their  houses,  except  those 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  Ipl 

who  rushed  forth  to  welcome  the  besiegers,  or  who 
had  private  relations  with  the  general.  No  movement 
was  made  from  the  many  fortified  places  in  the  city." 
The  transfer  from  one  suzerain  to  another  was  a  matter 
of  common  occurrence,  which  perhaps  accounts  for  the 
ease  and  composure  with  which  it  was  accomplished. 
This  first  victory,  however,  was  but  a  part  of  what  had 
to  be  done.  The  citadel,  high  above  on  the  crown  of  the 
hill  which  overlooks  the  city,  remained  for  some  time 
unconscious  of  what  had  taken  place  below.  Perhaps 
the  Venetian  trumpets  and  clang  of  the  soldiery  scarcely 
reached  the  airy  ramparts  above,  or  passed  for  some 
sudden  broil,  some  encounter  of  enemies  in  the  streets, 
such  as  were  of  nightly  occurrence.  The  town  was 
large,  and  rich,  and  populous  upon  the  slopes  under- 
neath, surrounded  with  great  walls  descending  to  the 
plains — walls  "thicker  than  they  were  high,"  with  forti- 
fications at  every  gate;  and  was  divided  into  the  old  and 
new  city,  the  first  of  these  only  being  in  Carmagnola's 
hands.  It  seems  a  doubtful  advantage  to  have  thus 
penetrated  into  the  streets  of  a  town  while  a  great  por- 
tion of  its  surrounding  fortifications  and  the  citadel 
above  were  still  in  other  hands;  but  the  warfare  of 
those  times  had  other  laws  than  those  with  which  we  are 
acquainted.  The  fact  that  these  famous  fortifications 
were  of  little  use  in  checking  the  attack  is  devoutly 
explained  by  Bigli  as  a  proof  that  God  was  against  them 
— "because  they  were  erected  with  almost  unbearable 
expense  and  toil,"  "the  very  blood  of  the  Brescians  con- 
strained by  their  former  conqueror  to  accomplish  this 
work,  which  was  marvelous,  no  man  at  that  time  having 
seen  the  like."  The  Brescians  themselves,  he  tells  us, 
were  always  eager  for  change,  and  on  the  outlook  for 
'every  kind  of  novelty,  so  that  there  was  nothing  remark- 
able in  their  quiet  acceptance  of,  and  even  satisfaction 
in,  the  new  sway.  The  reduction  of  the  citadel  was, 
however,  a  long  and  desperate  task.  The  means  em- 
ployed by  Carmagnola  for  this  end  are  a  little  difficult  to 
follow,  at  least  for  a  lay  reader.  He  seems  to  have  sur- 
rounded the  castle  with  an  elaborate  double  work  of 
trenches  and  palisades,  with  wooden  towers  at  intervals; 
and  wearing  out  the  defenders  by  continued  assault,  as 
well  as  shutting  out  all  chances  of  supplies,  at  last,  after 


192  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

long  vigilance  and  patience,  attained  his  end.  Brescia 
fell  finally  with  all  its  wealth  into  the  hands  of  the  Vene- 
tians, a  great  prize  worthy  the  trouble  and  time  which 
had  been  spent  upon  it — a  siege  of  seven  months  after 
the  first  night  attack,  which  had  seemed  so  easy. 

This  grave  achievement  accomplished,  Carmagnola 
secured  with  little  trouble  the  Brescian  territory;  most 
of  the  villages  and  castles  in  the  neighborhood,  as  far  as 
the  Lago  di  Garda,  giving  themselves  up  to  the  con- 
queror without  waiting  for  any  assault  of  arms.  The 
tide  of  ill  fortune  seems  to  have  been  too  much  for  Philip; 
and,  by  the  good  offices  of  the  Pope's  legate,  a  temporary 
peace  was  made — at  the  cost,  to  the  Duke,  of  Brescia, 
with  all  its  territory,  and  various  smaller  towns  and 
villages,  together  with  a  portion  of  the  district  of  Cremona 
on  the  other  bank  of  the  Oglio,  altogether  nearly  forty 
miles  in  extent.  Philip,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  furious 
at  his  losses — now  accusing  the  bad  faith  of  the  Floren- 
tines, who  had  begun  the  war;  now  the  avarice  of  the 
Venetians,  who  were  not  content  with  having  taken 
Brescia,  but  would  have  Cremona  too.  The  well-meant 
exertions  of  the  legate,  however,  were  of  so  little  effect 
that  before  his  own  departure  he  saw  the  magistrates 
sent  by  the  Venetians  to  take  possession  of  their  new 
property  on  the  Cremona  side  driven  out  with  insults, 
and  Philip  ready  to  take  arms  again.  The  cause  of  this 
new  courage  was  to  be  found  in  the  action  of  the  people 
of  Milan,  who,  stung  in  their  pride  by  the  national  down- 
fall, drew  their  purse-strings  and  came  to  their  prince's 
aid,  offering  both  men  and  money  on  condition  that  Philip 
would  give  up  to  them  the  dues  of  the  city  so  that  they 
might  reimburse  themselves.  Thus  the  wary  and  subtle 
Italian  burghers  combined  daring  with  prudence,  and 
secured  a  great  municipal  advantage,  while  undertaking 
a  patriotic  duty. 

It  would  be  hopeless  to  follow  the  course  of  this  long- 
continued,  often-interrupted  war.  On  either  side  there 
was  a  crowd  of  captains — many  Italians,  men  of  high 
birth  and  great  possessions,  others  sprung  from  the 
people  like  Carmagnola;  a  certain  John  the  Englishman, 
with  a  hundred  followers,  figured  in  the  special  following 
of  the  commander,  like  William  the  Cock  in  the  train  of 
Zeno.  The  great  battles  which  bulk  so  largely  in  writ- 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  193 

ing,  the  names  and  numbers  of  which  confuse  the  reader 
who  attempts  to  follow  the  entanglements  of  alliances 
and  treacheries  which  fill  the  chronicle,  were  in  most 
cases  almost  bloodless,  and  the  prisoners  who  were  taken 
by  the  victors  were  released  immediately,  "according  to 
the  usage  of  war,"  in  order  that  they  might  live  to  fight 
another  day,  and  so  prolong  and  extend  the  profitable 
and  not  too  laborious  occupation  of  soldiering.  Such 
seems  to  have  been  the  rule  of  these  endless  combats. 
The  men-at-arms  in  their  complete  mail  were  very  nearly 
invulnerable.  They  might  roll  off  their  horses  and  be 
stifled  in  their  own  helmets,  or,  at  close  quarters,  an  indis- 
creet ax  might  hew  through  the  steel  or  an  arrow  find 
a  crevice  in  the  armor;  but  such  accidents  were  quite 
unusual,  and  the  bloodless  battle  was  a  sort  of  game 
which  one  general  played  against  another,  in  ever  renewed 
and  changing  combinations.  The  danger  that  the  differ- 
ent bands  might  quarrel  among  themselves,  and  divided 
counsels  prevail,  was  perhaps  greater  than  any  other  in 
the  composition  of  these  armies.  In  Philip's  host,  when, 
the  second  campaign  began,  this  evil  was  apparent. 
Half  a  dozen  captains  of  more  or  less  equal  pretensions 
claimed  the  command,  and  the  wranglings  of  the  council 
of  war  were  not  less  than  those  of  a  village  municipality. 
On  the  other  hand,  Carmagnola,  in  his  rustic  haughti- 
ness, conscious  of  being  the  better  yet  the  inferior  of  all 
round  him,  his  anima  sdegnosa  stoutly  contemptuous  of 
all  lesser  claims,  kept  perfect  harmony  in  his  camp, 
though  the  names  of  Gonzaga  and  Sforza  are  to  be  found 
among  his  officers.  Even  the  Venetian  commissioners 
yielded  to  his  influence,  Bigli  says,  with  awe — though  he 
hid  his  iron  hand  in  no  glove,  but  ruled  his  army  with 
the  arrogance  which  had  been  his  characteristic  from  his 
youth  up.  Already,  however,  there  were  suspicious  and 
doubts  of  the  great  general  rising  in  the  minds  of  those 
who  were  his  masters.  He  had  asked  permission  more 
than  once,  even  during  the  siege  of  Brescia,  to  retire  to 
certain  baths,  pleading  ill  health;  a  plea  which  it  is  evi- 
dent the  Signoria  found  it  difficult  to  believe,  and  which 
raised  much  scornful  comment  and  criticism  in  Venice. 
These  Carmagnola  heard  of,  and  in  great  indignation 
complained  of  to  the  Signoria;  which,  however,  so  far 
from  supporting  the  vulgar  plaints,  sent  a  special  com- 


194  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

missioner  to  assure  him  of  their  complete  trust  and 
admiration. 

The  great  battle  of  Maclodio  or  Macalo  was  the  chief 
feature  in  Carmagnola's  second  campaign.  This  place 
was  surrounded  by  marshes,  the  paths  across  which  were 
tortuous  and  difficult  to  find,  covered  with  treacherous 
herbage  and  tufts  of  wood.  Carmagnola's  purpose  was 
to  draw  the  Milanese  army  after  him,  and  bring  on  a 
battle,  if  possible,  on  this  impracticable  ground,  which  his 
own  army  had  thoroughly  explored  and  understood. 
Almost  against  hope  his  opponents  fell  into  the  snare, 
notwithstanding  the  opposition  of  the  older  and  more 
experienced  captains,  who  divined  their  old  comrade's 
strategy.  Unfortunately,  however,  for  the  Milanese, 
Philip  had  put  a  young  Malatesta,  incompetent  and  head- 
strong, whose  chief  recommendation  was  his  noble  blood, 
at  the  head  of  the  old  officers,  by  way  of  putting  a  stop 
to  their  rivalries.  When  the  new  general  decided  upon 
attacking  the  Venetians,  his  better  instructed  sub- 
ordinates protested  earnestly.  "We  overthrow  Philip 
to-day,"  cried  Torelli,  one  of  the  chiefs.  "For  either 
I  know  nothing  of  war,  or  this  road  leads  us  headlong  to 
destruction;  but  that  no  one  may  say  I  shrink  from  dan- 
ger, I  put  my  foot  first  into  the  snare."  So  saying,  he 
led  the  way  into  the  marsh,  but  with  every  precaution, 
pointing  out  to  his  men  the  traps  laid  for  them,  and, 
having  the  good  fortune  to  hit  upon  one  of  the  solid  lines 
of  path,  escaped  with  his  son  and  a  few  of  his  immediate 
followers.  Piccinino,  another  of  the  leaders,  directed 
his  men  to  turn  their  pikes  against  either  friend  or  foe 
who  stopped  the  way,  and  managed  to  cut  his  way  out 
with  a  few  of  his  men;  but  the  bulk  of  the  army  fell  head- 
long into  the  snare;  the  general,  Malatesta,  was  taken 
almost  immediately,  and  the  floundering  troops  sur- 
rounded and  taken  prisoners  in  battalions. 

Sabellico  talks  of  much  bloodshed,  but  it  would  seem 
to  have  been  the  innocent  blood  of  horses  that  alone  was 
shed  in  this  great  battle. 

Nearly  five  thousand  horsemen,  and  a  similar  number  of  foot- 
soldiers,  were  taken — there  was  no  slaughter  [says  Bigli]  ;  the  troops 
thus  hemmed  in,  rather  than  be  slain,  yielded  themselves  prisoners. 
Those  who  were  there  affirm  that  they  heard  of  no  one  being  killed, 
extraordinary  to  relate,  though  it  was  a  great  battle.  Philip's  army 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  195 

was  so  completely  equipped  in  armor  that  no  small  blow  was  needed 
to  injure  them  ;  nor  is  there  any  man  who  can  record  what  could  be 
called  a  slaughter  of  armed  men  in  Italy,  though  the  slaughter  of 
horses  was  incredible.  This  disaster  was  great  and  memorable  [he 
adds]  for  Philip — so  much  so  that  even  the  conquerors  regretted  it,  hav- 
ing compassion  on  the  perilous  position  of  so  great  a  duke;  so  that  you 
could  hear  murmurings  throughout  the  camp  of  the  Venetians  against 
their  own  victory. 

Were  it  not  that  the  bloodless  character  of  the  combat 
involves  a  certain  ridicule,  what  a  good  thing  it  would  be 
could  we  in  our  advanced  civilization  carry  on  our  war- 
fare in  this  innocent  way,  and  take  each  other  prisoners 
with  polite  regret,  only  to  let  each  other  go  to-morrow! 
Such  a  process  would  rob  a  battle  of  all  its  terrors;  and 
if,  in  certain  eventualities,  it  were  understood  that  one 
party  must  accept  defeat,  how  delightful  to  secure  all  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  glorious  war  at  so  easy  a  cost! 
There  is  indeed  a  great  deal  to  be  said  in  favor  of  this 
way  of  fighting. 

This  great  success  was,  however,  the  beginning  of 
Carmagnola's  evil  fortune.  It  is  said  that  he  might,  had 
he  followed  up  his  victory,  have  pushed  on  to  the  walls  of 
Milan  and  driven  Philip  from  his  duchy.  But,  no  doubt, 
this  would  have  been  against  the  thrifty  practices  of  the 
condottieri,  and  the  usages  of  war.  He  returned  to  his 
headquarters  after  the  fight  without  any  pursuit,  and  all 
the  prisoners  were  set  free.  This  curious  custom  would 
seem  to  have  been  unknown  to  the  Venetian  commis- 
sioners, and  struck  them  with  astonishment.  In  the 
morning,  after  the  din  and  commotion  of  the  battle  were 
over,  they  came  open-mouthed  to  the  general's  tent  with 
their  complaint.  The  prisoners  had  in  great  part  been 
discharged.  Was  Carmagnola  aware  of  it?  "What 
then,"  cried  those  lay  critics  with  much  reason,  "was 
the  use  of  war?  when  all  that  was  done  was  to  prolong  it 
endlessly — the  fighting  men  escaping  without  a  wound, 
the  prisoners  going  back  to  their  old  quarters  in  peace?  " 
Carmagnola,  ever  proud,  would  seem  to  have  made  them 
no  reply;  but  when  they  had  done  he  sent  to  inquire 
what  had  been  done  with  the  prisoners,  as  if  this  unim- 
portant detail  was  unknown  to  him.  He  was  answered 
that  almost  all  had  been  set  free  on  the  spot,  but  that 
about  four  hundred  still  remained  in  the  camp — their 
captors  probably  hoping  for  ransom.  "Since  their  com- 


196  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

rades  have  had  so  much  good  fortune,"  said  Carmagnola, 
"by  the  kindness  of  my  men,  I  desire  that  the  others 
should  be  released  by  mine,  according  to  the  custom  of 
war."  Thus  the  haughty  general  proved  how  much 
regard  he  paid  to  the  remonstrances  of  his  civilian 
masters.  "From  this,"  says  Sabellico,  "there  arose 
great  suspicion  in  '  he  minds  of  the  Venetians.  And  there 
are  many  who  believe  that  it  was  the  chief  occasion  of 
his  death."  But  no  hint  was  given  of  these  suspicions  at 
the  time;  and  as  Carmagnola's  bloodless  victory  deeply 
impressed  the  surrounding  countries,  brought  all  the 
smaller  fortresses  and  castles  to  submission,  and,  work- 
ing with  other  misfortunes,  led  back  Philip  again  with 
the  ever  convenient  legate  to  ask  for  peace,  the  general 
returned  with  glory  to  Venice,  and  was  received  apparently 
with  honor  and  delight.  But  the  little  rift  within  the 
lute  was  never  slow  of  appearing,  and  the  jealous  Signoria 
feasted  many  a  man  whom  they  suspected,  and  for  whom, 
under  their  smiles  and  plaudits,  they  were  already  con- 
cocting trouble.  The  curious  "usage  of  war,"  thus  dis- 
covered by  the  Venetian  envoys,  is  frankly  accounted  for 
by  a  historian,  who  had  himself  been  in  his  day  a  con- 
dottiere,  as  arising  from  the  fear  the  soldiers  had,  if  the 
war  finished  quickly,  that  the  people  might  cry,  ' '  Soldiers, 
to  the  spade !  " 

A  curious  evidence  of  how  human  expedients  are  lost 
and  come  round  into  use  again  by  means  of  that  whirligig 
of  time  which  makes  so  many  revolutions,  is  to  be  found 
in  Carmagnola's  invention  for  the  defense  of  his  camp,  of 
a  double  line  of  the  country  carts  which  carried  his  pro- 
visions, standing  closely  together — with  three  archers, 
one  authority  says,  to  each.  Notwithstanding  what 
seems  the  very  easy  nature  of  his  victories,  and  the 
large  use  of  treachery,  it  is  evident  that  his  military 
genius  impressed  the  imagination  of  his  time  above  that 
of  any  of  his  competitors.  He  alone,  harsh  and  haughty 
as  he  was,  kept  his  forces  in  unity.  His  greatness 
silenced  the  feudal  lords,  who  could  not  venture  to  com- 
bat it,  and  he  had  the  art  of  command,  which  is  a  special 
gift. 

The  peace  lasted  for  the  long  period  of  three  years, 
during  which  time  Carmagnola  lived  in  great  state  and 
honor  in  Venice,  in  a  palace  near  San  Eustachio  which 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  197 

had  been  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  state.  His  wife  and 
children  had  in  the  former  interval  of  peace  been  restored 
to  him,  and  all  seemed  to  go  at  his  will.  A  modern 
biographer  (Lomonaco),  who  does  not  cite  any  author- 
ities, informs  us  that  Carmagnola  was  never  at  home  in 
his  adopted  city, — that  he  felt  suspicions  and  unfriendli- 
ness in  the  air, — and  that  the  keen  consciousness  of  his 
low  origin,  which  seems  to  have  set  a  sharp  note  in  his 
character,  was  more  than  ever  present  with  him  here. 
''He  specially  abhorred  the  literary  coteries,"  says  this 
doubtful  authority,  "  calling  them  vain  as  women,  punc- 
tilious as  boys,  lying  and  feigning  like  slaves" — which 
things  have  been  heard  before,  and  are  scarcely  worth 
putting  into  the  fierce  lips  of  the  Piedmontese  soldier, 
whose  rough  accent  of  the  north  was  probably  laughed  at 
by  the  elegant  Venetians,  and  to  whom  their  constant 
pursuit  of  novelty,  their  mental  activity,  politics,  and 
commotions  of  town  life,  were  very  likely  nauseous  and 
unprofitable.  He,  who  was  conversant  with  more  primi- 
tive means  of  action  than  speeches  in  the  Senate,  or  even 
the  discussions  of  the  Consiglio  Maggiore,  might  well 
chafe  at  so  much  loss  of  time;  and  it  was  the  fate  of  a 
general  of  mercenaries,  who  had  little  personal  motive 
beyond  his  pay,  and  what  he  could  gain  by  his  services, 
to  be  distrusted  by  his  masters. 

The  occasion  of  the  third  war  is  sufficiently  difficult  to 
discover.  A  Venetian  cardinal — Gabrielle  Condulmero — 
had  been  made  Pope,  and  had  published  a  bull,  admon- 
ishing both  lords  and  people  to  keep  the  peace,  as  he 
intended  himself  to  inquire  into  every  rising  and  regu- 
late the  affairs  of  Italy.  This  declaration  alarmed  Philip 
of  Milan,  to  whom  it  seemed  inevitable  that  a  Venetian 
Pope  should  be  his  enemy;  and  thus,  with  no  doubt  a 
thousand  secondary  considerations  on  all  hands,  the 
peninsula  was  once  more  set  on  fire.  When  it  became 
apparent  that  the  current  of  events  was  setting  toward 
war,  Carmagnola,  for  no  given  reason,  but  perhaps  because 
his  old  comrades  and  associates  had  begun  to  exercise 
a  renewed  attraction,  notwithstanding  all  the  griefs  that 
had  separated  him  from  Philip,  wrote  to  the  Senate  of 
Venice,  asking  to  resign  his  appointments  in  their  service. 
This,  however,  the  alarmed  Signoria  would  by  no  means 
listen  to.  They  forced  upon  him  instead  the  command 


198  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

in  general  of  all  their  forces,  with  one  thousand  ducats  a 
month  of  pay,  to  be  paid  both  in  war  and  peace,  and  many 
extraordinary  privileges.  It  seems  even  to  have  been 
contemplated  as  a  possible  thing  that  Milan  itself,  if 
Philip's  powers  were  entirely  crushed,  as  the  Venetians 
hoped,  might  be  bestowed  upon  Carmagnola  as  a  reward 
for  the  destruction  of  the  Visconti.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
evident  that  Carmagnola  had  by  this  time  begun  a  corre- 
spondence with  his  former  master,  and  received  both 
letters  and  messengers  from  Philip  while  conducting  the 
campaign  against  him.  And  that  campaign  was  certainly 
not  so  successful,  nor  was  it  carried  on  with  the  energy 
which  had  marked  his  previous  enterprises.  He  was 
defeated  before  Soncino,  by  devices  of  a  similar  character 
to  those  which  he  had  himself  employed,  and  here  is  said 
to  have  lost  a  thousand  horses.  But  that  shedding  of 
innocent  blood  was  soon  forgotten  in  the  real  and  terrible 
disaster  which  followed. 

The  Venetians  had  fitted  out  not  only  a  land  army,  but 
what  ought  to  have  been  more  in  consonance  with  their 
habits  and  character,  an  expedition  by  sea  under  the 
Admiral  Trevisano,  whose  ships,  besides  their  crews, 
are  said  to  have  carried  ten  thousand  fighting  men,  for 
the  capture  of  Cremona.  The  fleet  went  up  the  Po  to 
act  in  concert  with  Carmagnola  in  his  operations  against 
that  city.  But  Philip,  on  his  side,  had  also  a  fleet  in  the 
Po,  though  inferior  to  the  Venetian,  under  the  command 
of  a  Genoese,  Grimaldi,  arid  manned  in  great  part  by 
Genoese,  the  hereditary  opponents  and  rivals  of  Venice. 
The  two  generals  on  land,  Sforza  and  Piccinino,  then 
both  in  the  service  of  Philip, — men  whose  ingenuity  and 
resource  had  been  whetted  by  previous  defeats,  and  who 
had  thus  learned  Carmagnola's  tactics, — amused  and 
occupied  him  by  threatening  his  camp,  which  was  as  yet 
imperfectly  def ended,  piutosto  alleggiamento  che  ripari :  but 
in  the  night  stole  away,  and  under  the  walls  of  Cremona 
were  received  in  darkness  and  silence  into  Grimaldi's 
ships,  and  flung  themselves  upon  the  Venetian  fleet. 
These  vessels,  being  sea-going  ships,  were  heavy  and 
difficult  to  manage  in  the  river — those  of  their  adversaries 
being  apparently  of  lighter  build;  and  Grimaldi's  boats 
seem  to  have  had  the  advantage  of  the  current,  which 
carried  them  "very  swiftly"  against  the  Venetians,  who, 


BY   SEA    AND   BY    LAND.  199 

in  the  doubtful  dawn,  were  astonished  by  the  sight  of  the 
glittering  armor  and  banners  bearing  down  upon  them 
with  all  the  impetus  of  the  great  stream.  The  Venetian 
admiral  sent  off  a  message  to  warn  Carmagnola;  but 
before  he  could  reach  the  river-bank,  the  two  fleets,  in 
a  disastrous  jumble,  had  drifted  out  of  reach.  Carma- 
gnola, roused  at  last,  arrived  too  late,  and  standing  on  the 
shore,  hot  with  ineffectual  haste,  spent  his  wrath  in 
shouts  of  encouragement  to  his  comrades,  and  in  cries  of 
rage  and  dismay  as  he  saw  the  tide  of  fortune  drifting  on, 
carrying  the  ships  of  Philip  in  wild  concussion  against 
the  hapless  Venetians.  When  things  became  desperate, 
Trevisano,  the  admiral,  got  to  shore  in  a  little  boat,  and 
fled,  carrying  with  him  the  treasure  of  sixty  thousand 
gold  pieces,  which  was  one  of  the  great  objects  of  the 
attack.  But  this  was  almost  all  that  was  saved  from  the 
rout.  Bigli  says  that  seventy  ships  were  taken,  of  which 
twenty-eight  were  ships  of  war;  but  in  this  he  is  prob- 
ably mistaken,  as  he  had  himself  described  the  fleet  as 
one  of  thirty  ships.  "The  slaughter,"  he  adds,  "was 
greater  than  any  that  was  ever  known  in  Italy,  more  than 
two  thousand  five  hundred  men  being  said  to  have  perished, 
in  witness  of  which  the  Po  ran  red,  a  grea^t  stream  of 
blood,  for  many  miles."  A  few  ships  escaped  by  flight, 
and  many  fugitives,  no  doubt,  in  boats  and  by  the  banks, 
where  they  were  assailed  by  the  peasants,  who,  taking 
advantage  of  their  opportunity,  and  with  many  a  wrong 
to  revenge,  killed  a  large  number.  Such  a  disastrous 
defeat  had  not  happened  to  Venice  for  many  a  day. 

The  Venetian  historian  relates  that  Carmagnola 
received  the  warning  and  appeal  of  the  admiral  with  con- 
tempt— "as  he  was  of  a  wrathful  nature,  di  natura  ira- 
fonda — and  with  a  loud  voice  reproved  the  error  of  the 
Venetians,  who,  despising  his  counsel,  refused  the  sup- 
port to  the  army  on  land  which  they  had  given  to  their 
naval  expedition;  nor  did  he  believe  what  the  messengers 
told  him,  but  said  scornfully  that  the  admiral,  fearing  the 
form  of  an  armed  man,  had  dreamed  that  all  the  enemies 
in  their  boats  were  born  giants."  This  angry  speech,  no 
doubt,  added  to  the  keen  dissatisfaction  of  the  Venetians 
in  knowing  that  their  general  remained  inactive  on  the 
bank  while  their  ships  were  thus  cut  to  pieces.  The 
truth  probably  lies  between  the  two  narratives,  as  so 


200  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

often  happens;  for  Carmagnola  might  easily  express  his 
hot  impatience  with  the  authorities  who  had  refused  to 
be  guided  by  his  experience,  and  with  the  admiral  who 
took  the  first  unexpected  man  in  armor  for  a  giant,  when 
the  messengers  roused  him  with  their  note  of  alarm  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  and  yet  have  had  no  traitorous  pur- 
pose in  his  delay.  He  himself  took  the  defeat  profoundly 
to  heart,  and  wrote  letters  of  such  distress  excusing  him- 
self, that  the  senators  were  compelled  in  the  midst  of 
their  own  trouble  to  send  ambassadors  to  soothe  him — 
"  to  mitigate  his  frenzy,  that  they  might  not  fall  into 
greater  evil,  and  to  keep  him  at  his  post" — with  assur- 
ances that  they  held  him  free  of  blame.  It  is  evident, 
we  think,  that  the  whole  affair  had  been  in  direct  opposi- 
tion to  his  advice,  and  that,  instead  of  being  in  the  wrong, 
he  felt  himself  able  to  take  a  very  high  position  with  the 
ill-advised  Signoria,  and  to  resent  the  catastrophe  which, 
with  greater  energy  on  his  part,  might  perhaps  have  been 
prevented  altogether.  The  Venetians  avenged  the  dis- 
aster by  sending  a  fleet  at  once  to  Genoa,  where,  coursing 
along  the  lovely  line  of  the  eastern  Riviera,  they  caught 
in  a  somewhat  similar  way  the  Genoese  fleet,  and  annihi- 
lated it.  But  this  is  by  the  way. 

Carmagnola,  meanwhile,  lay,  like  Achilles,  sullen  in  his 
tent.  Philip  himself  came  in  his  joy  and  triumph  to  the 
neighborhood,  but  could  not  tempt  the  disgusted  general 
to  more  than  a  languid  passage  of  arms.  An  attempt  to 
take  Cremona  by  surprise,  made  by  one  of  his  officers,  a 
certain  Cavalcab6,  or  as  some  say  by  Colleoni,  seemed  as 
if  it  might  have  been  crowned  with  success  had  the  general 
bestirred  himself  with  sufficient  energy — "  if  Carmagnola 
had  sent  more  troops  in  aid."  As  it  was,  the  expedition, 
being  unsupported,  had  to  retire.  If  he  were  indeed 
contemplating  treachery,  it  is  evident  that  he  had  a  great 
struggle  with  himself,  and  was  incapable  of  changing  his 
allegiance  with  the  light-hearted  ease  of  many  of  his  con- 
temporaries. He  lay  thus  sullen  and  disheartened  in  his 
leaguer  even  when  spring  restored  the  means  of  warfare, 
and  though  his  old  enemy  Piccinino  was  up  and  stirring, 
picking  up  here  and  there  a  castle  in  the  disturbed  pre- 
cincts of  the  Cremonese.  "The  marvel  grew,"  cries 
Sabellico,  "  that  Carmagnola  let  these  people  approach 
him,  and  never  moved." 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  2OI 

The  Signoria,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  separately 
and  silently  turning  over  many  thoughts  in  their  mind  on 
the  subject  of  this  general  who  was  not  as  the  others,  who 
would  not  be  commanded  nor  yet  dismissed;  too  great  to 
be  dispensed  with,  too  troublesome  to  manage.  Ever 
since  the  memorable  incidents  of  the  battle  of  Maclodio, 
doubts  of  his  good  faith  had  been  in  their  minds.  Why 
did  he  liberate  Philip's  soldiers,  if  he  really  wished  to 
overthrow  Philip?  It  was  Philip  himself — so  the  com- 
missioners had  said  in  their  indignation — whom  he  had 
set  free;  and  who  could  tell  that  the  treachery  at  Soncino 
was  not  of  his  contriving,  or  that  he  had  not  stood  aloof 
of  set  purpose  while  the  ships  were  cut  in  pieces? 
Besides,  was  it  not  certain  that  many  a  Venetian  had 
been  made  to  stand  aside  while  this  northern  mountaineer, 
this  rude  Piedmontese,  went  swaggering  through  the 
streets,  holding  the  noblest  at  arm's-length?  A  hundred 
hidden  vexations  came  up  when  someone  at  last  intro- 
duced his  name,  and  suddenly  the  senators  with  one  con- 
sent burst  into  the  long-deferred  discussion  for  which 
everyone  was  ready. 

There  were  not  a  few  [says  Sabellico],  who,  from  the  beginning, 
had  suspected  Carmagnola.  These  now  openly  in  the  Senate  declared 
that  this  suspicion  not  only  had  not  ceased  but  increased,  and  was 
increasing  every  day;  and  that,  except  his  title  of  commander,  they 
knew  nothing  in  him  that  was  not  hostile  to  the  Venetian  name.  The 
others  would  not  believe  this,  nor  consent  to  hold  him  in  such  suspicion 
until  some  manifest  signs  of  his  treachery  were  placed  before  them. 
The  Senate  again  and  again  referred  to  the  Avogadori  the  question 
whether  such  a  man  ought  to  be  retained  in  the  public  service,  or 
whether,  if  convicted  of  treachery,  he  ought  to  be  put  to  capital  punish- 
ment. This  deliberation,  which  lasted  a  very  long  time,  ought  to 
demonstrate  how  secret  were  the  proceedings  of  the  Senate  when  the 
affairs  of  the  country  were  in  question,  and  how  profound  the  good  faith 
of  the  public  counselors.  For  when  the  Senate  was  called  together  for 
this  object,  entering  into  counsel  at  the  first  lighting  of  torches,  the  con- 
sultation lasted  till  it  was  full  day.  Carmagnola  himself  was  in  Venice 
for  some  time  while  it  was  proceeding;  and  going  one  morning  to  pay  his 
respects  to  the  doge,  he  met  him  coming  out  of  the  council  chamber  to 
the  palace,  and  with  much  cheerfulness  asked  whether  he  ought  to  bid 
him  good-morning  or  good-evening,  seeing  he  had  not  slept  since  supper. 
To  whom  that  prince  replied,  smiling,  that  among  the  many  serious 
matters  which  had  been  talked  of  in  that  long  discussion,  nothing  had 
been  oftener  mentioned  than  his  [Carmagnola's]  name.  But  in  order 
that  no  suspicion  might  be  awakened  by  these  words,  he  immediately 
turned  the  conversation  to  other  subjects.  This  was  nearly  eight  months 
before  there  was  any  question  of  death;  and  so  secret  was  this  council, 


SANTA  BARBARA  STATZ  COLLEGE  LIBI 


202  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

holding  everything  in  firm  and  perpetual  silence,  that  no  suggestion  of 
their  suspicions  reached  Carmagnola.  And  though  many  of  the  order  of 
the  senators  were  by  long  intimacy  his  friends,  and  many  of  them  poor, 
who  might  have  obtained  great  rewards  from  Carmagnola  had  they 
betrayed  this  secret,  nevertheless  all  kept  it  faithfully. 

There  is  something  grim  and  terrible  in  the  smiling 
reply  of  the  doge  to  the  man  whose  life  was  being  played 
for  between  these  secret  judges,  that  his  name  had  been 
one  of  those  which  came  oftenest  uppermost  in  their  dis- 
cussions. With  what  eyes  must  the  splendid  Venetian 
in  his  robes  of  state,  pale  with  the  night's  watching, 
have  looked  at  the  soldier,  erect  and  cheerful,  con  f rente 
molto  allegra,  who  came  across  the  great  court  to  meet 
him  in  the  first  light  of  the  morning,  which,  after  the  dim- 
ness of  the  council  chamber  and  its  dying  torches,  would 
dazzle  the  watcher's  eyes?  The  other  red-robed  figures, 
dispersing  like  so  many  ghosts,  pale-eyed  before  the  day, 
did  they  glance  at  each  other  with  looks  of  baleful  mean- 
ing as  the  unsuspicious  general  passed  with  many  salu- 
tations and  friendly  words  and  greeting — "Shall  it  be 
good-even  or  good-morrow,  illustrious  gentlemen,  who 
watch  for  Venice  while  the  rest  of  the  world  sleeps? " 
Would  there  be  grace  enough  among  the  secret  coun- 
cilors to  hurry  their  steps  as  they  passed  him,  or  was  there 
a  secret  enjoyment  in  Foscari's  double  entendre — in  that 
fatal  smile  with  which  he  met  the  victim?  The  great 
court  which  has  witnessed  so  much  has  rarely  seen  a 
stranger  scene. 

At  what  time  this  curious  encounter  can  have  happened 
it  is  difficult  to  tell — perhaps  on  the  occasion  of  some 
flying  visit  to  his  family,  which  Carmagnola  may  have 
paid  after  laying  up  his  army  in  winter  quarters,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  time.  The  Signoria  had  sent  messengers 
to  remonstrate  with  him  upon  his  inaction  to  no  avail; 
and  that  he  still  lingered  in  camp,  doing  little  or  nothing, 
added  a  sort  of  exasperation  to  the  impatience  of  the 
city,  and  gave  their  rulers  a  justification  for  what  they 
were  about  to  do.  The  Venetian  senators  had  no  thought 
of  leaving  their  general  free  to  carry  over  to  Philip  the 
help  of  his  great  name  in  case  of  another  war.  Carma- 
gnola's  sword  thrown  suddenly  into  the  balance  of  power, 
which  was  so  critical  in  Italy,  might  have  swayed  it  in 
almost  any  conceivable  direction — and  this  was  a  risk 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  203 

not  to  be  lightly  encountered.  Had  he  shaken  the  dust 
from  his  feet  at  Mestre,  and,  instead  of  embarking  upon 
the  lagoon,  turned  his  horse  round  upon  the  beach  and 
galloped  off,  as  he  had  done  from  Philip's  castle,  to  some 
other  camp — the  Florentines',  perhaps,  or  his  own  native 
Duke  Amadeo  of  Savoy — what  revolutions  might  hap- 
pen? He  had  done  it  once,  but  the  magnificent  Signoria 
were  determined  that  he  should  not  do  it  again.  There- 
fore the  blow,  when  finally  resolved  upon,  had  to  be 
sharp  and  sudden,  allowing  no  time  for  thought.  Thanks 
to  that  force  of  secrecy  of  which  the  historian  brags, 
Carmagnola  had  no  thought  of  any  harm  intended  to  him. 
He  thought  himself  the  master  of  the  situation — he  to 
whom  only  a  year  before  the  rulers  of  Venice  had  sent  a 
deputation  to  soothe  and  caress  their  general,  lest  he 
should  throw  up  his  post.  Accordingly,  when  he  re- 
ceived the  fatal  message  to  return  to  Venice  in  order  to 
give  his  good  masters  advice  as  to  the  state  of  affairs,  he 
seems  to  have  been  without  suspicion  as  to  what  was 
intended.  He  set  out  at  once,  accompanied  by  one  of 
his  lieutenants,  Gonzaga,  the  lord  of  Mantua,  who  had 
also  been  summoned  to  advise  the  Signoria,  and  rode 
along  the  green  Lombard  plains  in  all  the  brilliancy  of 
their  spring  verdure,  received  wherever  he  halted  with 
honor  and  welcome.  When  he  reached  the  Brenta  he 
took  boat;  and  his  voyage  down  the  slow-flowing  stream, 
which  has  been  always  so  dear  to  the  Venetians,  was  like 
a  royal  progress.  The  banks  of  the  Brenta  bore  then, 
as  now,  long  lines  of  villas,  inhabited  by  all  that  was 
finest  in  Venice;  and  such  of  the  noble  inhabitants  as 
were  already  in  villegiatura,  "according  to  their  habit," 
Sabellico  says,  received  him,  as  he  passed,  con  molta 
festa.  And  so  he  went  to  his  fate.  At  Mestre  he  was 
met  by  an  escort  of  eight  gentlemen  from  Venice — 
those,  no  doubt,  to  whom  the  historian  refers  as  bound 
to  him  by  long  intimacy,  who  yet  never  breathed  to 
him  a  word  of  warning.  With  this  escort  he  crossed  the 
lagoon,  the  towers  and  lofty  roofs  of  Venice  rising  from 
out  the  rounded  line  of  sea;  his  second  home,  the  coun- 
try of  which  he  had  boasted,  where  every  man  received 
his  due. 

How  did  they  talk  with  him,  those  silken  citizens  who 
knew  but  would  not  by  a  look  betray  whither  they  were 


204  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

leading  their  noble  friend?  Would  they  tell  him  the  news 
of  the  city:  what  was  thought  of  the  coming  peace;  what 
intrigues  were  afloat;  where  Trevisano,  the  unlucky 
admiral,  had  gone  to  hide  his  head  in  his  banishment?  or 
would  the  conversation  flow  on  the  last  great  public  show, 
or  some  rare  conceit  in  verse,  or  the  fine  fleet  that  fol- 
lowed the  Bucentoro  when  last  the  Serenest  Prince  took 
the  air  upon  the  lagoon?  But  Carmagnola  was  not 
lettered,  nor  a  courtier,  so  that  such  subjects  would  have 
little  charm  for  him.  When  the  boats  swept  past  San 
Stai,  would  not  a  waving  scarf  from  some  balcony  show 
that  his  wife  and  young  daughter  had  come  out  to  see 
him  pass,  though  well  aware  that  the  business  of  the 
Signoria  went  before  any  indulgence  at  home?  Or  per- 
haps he  came  not  by  Canereggio  but  up  the  Giudecca, 
with  the  wind  and  spray  from  the  sea  blowing  in  his  face 
as  he  approached  the  center  of  Venetian  life.  He  was 
led  by  his  courtier-attendants  to  the  Palace  direct — the 
senators  having,  as  would  seem,  urgent  need  of  his 
counsel.  As  he  entered  the  fatal  doors,  those  com- 
placent friends,  to  save  him  any  trouble,  turned  back 
and  dismissed  the  retainers,  without  whom  a  gentle- 
man never  stirred  abroad,  informing  them  that  their 
master  had  much  to  say  to  the  doge,  and  might  be  long 
detained. 

Here  romance  comes  in  with  unnecessary  aggravations 
of  the  tragic  tale;  relating  how,  not  finding  the  doge,  as 
he  had  expected,  awaiting  him,  Carmagnola  turned  to  go 
to  his  own  house,  but  was  stopped  by  his  false  friends, 
and  led,  on  pretense  of  being  shown  the  nearest  exit, 
another  gloomy  way — a  way  that  led  through  bewildering 
passages  into  the  prisons.  No  sentimental  Bridge  of 
Sighs  existed  in  these  days.  But  when  the  door  of  the 
strong-room  which  was  to  be  his  home  for  the  rest  of  his 
mortal  life  was  opened,  and  the  lively  voices  of  his  con- 
ductors sank  in  the  shock  of  surprise  and  horror,  and  all 
that  was  about  to  be  rushed  on  Carmagnola's  mind,  the 
situation  is  one  which  requires  no  aid  of  dramatic  art. 
Here,  in  a  moment,  betrayed  out  of  the  air  and  light, 
and  the  freedom  which  he  had  used  so  proudly,  this  man, 
who  had  never  feared  the  face  of  men,  must  have  realized 
his  fate.  At  the  head  of  a  great  army  one  day,  a  friend- 
less prisoner  the  next,  well  aware  that  the  light  of  day 


BY   SEA    AND    BY   LAND.  205 

would  never  clear  up  the  proceedings  against  him,  or 
common  justice,  such  as  awaits  a  poor  picker  and  stealer, 
stand  between  him  and  the  judges  whose  sentence  was  a 
foregone  conclusion.  Let  us  hope  that  those  intimates 
who  had  accompanied  him  thus  far  slunk  away  in  con- 
fusion and  shame  from  the  look  of  the  captive.  So  much 
evil  as  Carmagnola  had  done  in  his  life — and  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose,  and  not  a  word  to  make  us  believe, 
that  he  was  a  sanguinary  conqueror,  or  abused  the  posi- 
tion he  held — must  have  been  well  atoned  by  that  first 
moment  of  enlightenment  and  despair. 

During  the  thirty  days  that  followed  little  light  is 
thrown  upon  Carmagnola's  dungeon.  He  is  swallowed 
up  in  the  darkness,  "examined  by  torture  before  the 
Secret  Council,"  a  phrase  that  chills  one's  blood — until 
they  have  the  evidence  they  want,  and  full  confirmation 
in  the  groans  of  the  half-conscious  sufferer  of  all  imagined 
or  concocted  accusations.  Sabellico  asserts  that  the 
proof  against  him  was  "  in  letters  which  he  could  not 
deny  were  in  his  own  hand,  and  by  domestic  testimony," 
whatever  that  may  mean;  and  does  not  mention  the  tor- 
ture. It  is  remarkable  that  Romanin,  while  believing  all 
this,  is  unable  to  prove  it  by  any  document,  and  can  only 
repeat  what  the  older  and  vaguer  chronicler  says.  "  The 
points  of  the  accusation  were  these,"  Sabellico  adds: 
"succor  refused  to  Trevisano,  and  Cremona  saved  to 
Philip  by  his  treacherous  abstinence."  The  fact,  how- 
ever, is  more  simply  stated  by  Navagero  before  the  trial, 
that  "the  Signoria  were  bent  on  freeing  themselves" 
from  a  general  who  had  apparently  ceased  to  be  always 
victorious — after  the  excellent  habit  of  republics,  which 
was  to  cut  off  the  head  of  every  unsuccessful  leader — 
thus  effectually  preventing  further  failure,  on  his  part  at 
least. 

Carmagnola  was  not  a  man  of  words.  Yet  he  might 
have  launched  with  his  dying  breath  some  ringing  defiance 
to  catch  the  echoes,  and  leave  in  Venetian  ears  a  recol- 
lection, a  watchword  of  rebellion  to  come.  The  remorse- 
less council  thought  of  this,  with  the  vigilance  and  subtle 
genius  which  inspired  all  the  proceedings  of  their  secret 
conclave;  and  when  the  May  morning  dawned  which  was 
to  be  his  last,  a  crowning  indignity  was  added  to  his 
doom.  He  was  led  out  con  itno  sbadocchio  in  bocca,  gagged, 


206  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

"in  order  that  he  might  not  speak,"  to  the  Piazzetta, 
now  so  cheerful  and  so  gay,  which  then  had  the  most 
dreadful  associations  of  any  in  Venice.  "  Between  the 
columns,"  the  blue  lagoon,  with  all  its  wavelets  flinging 
upward  their  countless  gleams  of  reflection  in  the  early 
sun;  the  rich-hued  sails  standing  out  against  the  blue; 
the  great  barges  coming  serenely  in,  as  now,  with  all 
their  many-colored  stores  from  the  Lido  farms  and 
fields — the  gondolas  crowding  to  the  edge  of  the  fatal 
pavement,  the  populace  rushing  from  behind.  No  doubt 
the  windows  of  the  ducal  palace,  or  so  much  of  the  gal- 
leries as  were  then  in  existence,  were  crowded  with 
spectators  too.  Silent,  carrying  his  head  high,  like  him 
of  whom  Dante  writes  who  held  great  Hell  itself  in 
despite, — sdegnoso  even  of  that  gag  between  his  lips, — the 
great  soldier,  the  general  whose  praises  had  rung  through 
Venice,  and  whose  haughty  looks  had  been  so  familiar  in 
the  streets,  was  led  forth  to  his  death.  By  that  strong 
argument  of  the  ax,  unanswerable,  incontestable,  the 
Signoria  managed  to  liberarsi  of  many  an  inconvenient 
servant  and  officer,  either  unsuccessful  or  too  fortunate. 
Carmagnola  had  both  of  these  faults.  He  was  too  great, 
and  for  once  he  had  failed.  The  people  called  "  Sven- 
tura!  Sventura!"  "Misfortune!  Misfortune!"  in 
their  dark  masses,  as  they  struggled  to  see  the  wonder- 
ful sight.  Their  sympathies  could  scarcely  be  against 
the  victim  on  that  day  of  retribution;  and  perhaps,  had 
his  voice  been  free  to  speak  to  them,  they  might  have 
thought  of  other  things  to  shout,  which  the  Signoria  had 
been  less  content  to  hear. 

Thus  ended  the  great  Carmagnola,  the  most  famous  of 
all  Italian  soldiers  of  fortune.  Over  one  of  the  doors  of 
the  noble  church  of  the  Frari  there  has  hung  for  genera- 
tions a  coffin  covered  with  a  pall,  in  which  it  was  long  sup- 
posed that  his  bones  had  been  placed,  suspended  between 
heaven  and  earth  per  infamia,  as  a  romantic  Custode  says. 
This,  however,  is  one  of  the  fables  of  tradition.  He  was 
buried  in  San  Francesco  delle  Vigne  (not  the  present 
church),  whence  at  a  later  period  his  remains  were  trans- 
ferred to  Milan.  His  wife  and  daughter,  or  daugh- 
ters, were  banished  to  Treviso  with  a  modest  pension, 
yet  a  penalty  of  death  registered  against  them  should 
they  break  bounds — so  determined,  it  is  evident,  were 


MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

>e  might  not  speak,"  to  the   Piazzetta, 
ml  and  so  gay,  which  then  had 
•oiations  of  any  in  Venice.      "Between  the 
the  blue  lagoon,  with  all  its  wavelets  flinging 
upvarci  their  countless  gleams  of  reflection  in  the  early 
the  rich-hued  sails  standing  out  against  the  blue; 
•reat  barges  coming  serenely  in,  as  now,   with   all 
many-colored    stores   from    the    Lido    farms   and 
— the  gondolas  crowding  to  the  edge  of  the  fatal 
pavement,  the  populace  rushing  from  behind.     No  doubt 
the  windows  of  the  ducal  palace,  or  so  much  of  the  gal- 
leries as  were   then   in    existence,   were  crowded   with 
spectators  too.     Silent,  carrying  his  head  high,  like  him 
of   whom    Dante  writes  who    held   great    Hell    itself  in 
despite, — sdegnoso  even  of  tlMHt  gag  between  his  lips, — the 
great  soldier,  the  general  whose  praises  had  rung  through 
e,  and  whose  haughty  looks  had  been  so  familiar  in 
the  streets,  w  to  his  death.     By  that  strong 

argument   of  Answerable,   incontestable,    the 

Signoria  manage<  uf  many  an  inconvenient 

servaMbl^dcf  SAN  MARCO,  COLUMNS  OF/£*g&teunate- 
Carmagnola  had  t  ft.      He  was  too  great, 

and  for  once  he  had  '>le  called    "  Sven- 

tura!      Svcntura!"       "Mi  ortune!"     in 

their  dark  masses,  as  thev  \  wonder- 

ful sight.     Their  sympathy  •••  against 

the  victim  on  that  day  of  n  prittaps,  had 

his  voice  been  free  to  spc  .  they  might   har« 

.  ht  of  other  things  to  shout,  which  the  Signoria  had 
less  content  to  hear. 

is  ended  the  great  Carmagnola,  the  most  famous  of 
.ilian  soldiers  of  fortune.     Over  one  of  the  doors  of 
church  of  the  Frari  there  has  hung  for  genera- 
'•  overed  with  a  pall,  in  which  it  was  long  sup- 
-.  bones  had  been  placed,  suspended  between 
rth  per  infamia,  as  a  romantic  Custode  says. 
one  of  the  fables  of  tradition.     He  was 
mcesco  delle  Vigne  (not  the  present 
t  a  later  period  his  remains  were  trans- 
ferred His    wife   and    daughter,  or   daugh- 
ters, wer-  cviso  with  a  modest  pension, 
yet  a  per,  gistered  against  them  should 
they  bre,  termined,  it  is  evident,  were 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  .      207 

the  Signoria  to  leave  no  means  by  which  the  general 
could  be  avenged,  And  what  became  of  these  poor 
women  is  unknown.  Such  unconsidered  trifles  drop 
through  the  loopholes  of  history,  which  has  nothing  to 
do  with  hearts  that  are  broken  or  hopes  that  cannot  be 
renewed. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BARTOLOMMEO   COLLEONI. 

THE  lives  of  the  other  condottieri  who  tore  Lombardy 
in  pieces  among  them  and  were  to-day  for  Venice  and 
to-morrow  for  Milan,  or  for  any  other  master  who  might 
turn  up  with  a  reasonable  chance  of  fighting,  have  less 
of  human  interest,  as  they  have  less  of  the  tragic  element 
in  their  lives,  and  less  of  what  we  may  call  modern  char- 
acteristics in  their  minds,  than  the  unfortunate  general 
who  ended  his  days  "between  the  columns,"  the  victim 
of  suspicion  only,  leaving  no  proof  against  him  that  can 
satisfy  posterity.  If  Carmagnola  was  a  traitor  at  all,  he 
was  such  a  one  as  might  be  the  hero  of  an  analytical 
drama  of  our  own  day;  wavering  between  truth  and  false- 
hood, worked  upon  by  old  associations  and  the  spells  of 
relenting  affection,  but  never  able  to  bring  himself  to  the 
point  of  renouncing  his  engagements  or  openly  breaking 
his  word.  Such  a  traitor  might  be  in  reality  more 
dangerous  than  the  light-hearted  deserter  who  went 
over  with  his  lances  at  a  rousing  gallop  to  the  enemy. 
But  modern  art  loves  to  dwell  upon  the  conflicts  of  the 
troubled  mind,  driven  about  from  one  motive  or  object 
to  another,  now  seized  upon  by  the  tender  recollections 
of  the  past,  and  a  longing  for  the  sympathy  and  society 
of  the  friends  of  his  youth,  now  sternly  called  back  by 
the  present  duty  which  requires  him  to  act  in  the  service 
of  their  enemy. 

It  is  difficult  to  realize  this  nineteenth-century  struggle 
as  going  on  under  the  corselet  of  a  mediaeval  soldier;  a 
fierce,  illiterate  general,  risen  from  the  ranks,  ferocious 
in  war  and  arrogant  in  peace,  according  to  all  the  de- 
scriptions of  him.  But  there  is  nothing  vulgar  in  the 
image  that  rises  before  us  as  we  watch  Carmagnola  lying 
inactive  on  those  devastated  plains,  letting  his  fame  go 
to  the  winds,  paralyzed  between  the  subtle  wooings  of 
old  associations,  the  horror  of  Philip's  approaching  ruin 

208 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  ?.Oq 

wrought  by  his  hands — of  Philip  who  had  been  his  play- 
fellow when  they  were  both  youths  at  Pavia,  the  cousin, 
perhaps  the  brother,  of  his  wife — and  the  demands  of  the 
alien  masters  who  paid  him  so  well,  and  praised  him  so 
loudly,  but  scorned  with  fine  ridicule  his  rough,  military 
ways.  Philip  had  wronged  him  bitterly,  but  had  suffered 
for  it;  and  how  was  it  possible  to  keep  the  rude  heart 
from  melting  when  the  rage  of  love  offended  had  passed 
away,  and  the  sinner  pleaded  for  forgiveness?  Or  who 
could  believe  that  the  woman  by  his  side,  who  was  a  Vis- 
conti,  would  be  silent,  or  that  she  could  see  unmoved 
her  own  paternal  blazon  sinking  to  the  earth  before  the 
victorious  Lion  of  the  Venetians?  The  wonder  is  that 
Carmagnola  did  not  do  as  at  one  time  or  another  every 
one  of  his  compeers  did — go  over  cheerfully  to  Philip, 
and  thus  turn  the  tables  at  once.  Some  innate  nobility 
in  the  man,  who  was  not  as  the  others  were,  could  alone 
have  prevented  this  very  usual  catastrophe.  Even  if  we 
take  the  view  of  the  Venetian  Signoria,  that  he  was  in 
his  heart  a  traitor,  we  must  still  allow  the  fact,  quite 
wonderful  in  the  circumstances,  that  he  was  not  so  by 
any  overt  act — and  that  his  treachery  amounted  to 
nothing  more  than  the  struggle  in  his  mind  of  two  influ- 
ences which  paralyzed  and  rendered  him  wretched.  The 
ease  with  which  he  fell  into  the  snare  laid  for  his  feet, 
and  obeyed  the  Signoria's  call,  which  in  reality  was  his 
death  warrant,  does  not  look  like  a  guilty  man. 

The  others  were  all  of  very  different  mettle.  Gonzaga, 
Marquis  of  Mantua,  who,  with  a  few  generations  of  fore- 
fathers behind  him,  might  have  been  supposed  to  have 
learned  the  laws  of  honor  better  than  a  mere  Savoyard 
trooper,  went  over  without  a  word,  at  a  most  critical 
moment  of  the  continued  war,  yet  died  in  his  bed  com- 
fortably, no  one  thinking  of  branding  him  with  the  name 
of  traitor.  Sforza  acted  in  the  same  manner  repeatedly, 
without  any  apparent  criticism  from  his  contemporaries, 
and  in  the  end  displaced  and  succeeded  Philip,  and  estab- 
lished his  family  as  one  of  the  historical  families  of  Italy. 
None  of  these  men  seem  to  have  had  any  hesitation  in 
the  matter.  And  neither  had  the  lesser  captain  who  has 
so  identified  himself  with  Venice  that  when  we  touch 
upon  the  mainland  and  its  wars,  and  the  conquests  and 
losses  of  the  republic,  it  is  not  possible  to  pass  by  the 


210  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

name  of  Colleoni.  This  is  not  so  much  for  the  memory 
of  anything  he  has  done,  or  from  any  characteristics  of 
an  impressive  nature  which  he  possessed,  as  from  the 
wonderful  image  of  him  which  rides  and  reigns  in  Venice, 
the  embodiment  of  martial  strength  and  force  unhesitat- 
ing, the  mailed  captain  of  the  Middle  Ages,  ideal  in  a 
tremendous  reality  which  the  least  observant  cannot  but 
feel.  There  he  stands  as  in  iron — nay,  stands  not,  but 
rides  upon  us,  unscrupulous,  unswerving,  though  his  next 
step  should  be  on  the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  crushing 
them  to  pulp  with  remorseless  hoofs.  Man  and  horse 
together,  there  is  scarcely  any  such  warlike  figure  left 
among  us  to  tell  in  expressive  silence  the  tale  of  those 
days  when  might  was  right,  and  the  sword,  indifferent  to 
all  reason,  turned  every  scale.  Colleoni  played  no  such 
emphatic  part  in  the  history  of  Venice  as  his  great  leader 
and  predecessor.  But  he  was  mixed  up  in  all  those 
wonderful  wars  of  Lombardy;  in  the  confusion  of  sieges, 
skirmishes,  surprises  ever  repeated,  never  decisive;  a 
phantasmagoria  of  moving  crowds;  a  din  and  tumult  that 
shakes  the  earth,  thundering  of  horses,  cries  and  shouts 
of  men,  and  the  glancing  of  armor,  and  the  blaze  of 
swords,  reflecting  the  sudden  blaze  of  burning  towns, 
echoing  the  more  terrible  cries  of  sacked  cities.  From 
the  miserable  little  castello,  taken  again  and  again,  and 
yet  again,  its  surrounding  fields  trampled  down,  its  poor 
inhabitants  drained  of  their  utmost  farthing,  to  such 
rich  centers  as  Brescia  and  Verona,  which  lived  for  half 
their  time  shut  up  within  their  walls,  besieged  by  one 
army  or  the  other,  and  spent  the  other  half  in  settling 
their  respective  ransoms,  changing  their  insignia,  setting 
up  the  Lion  and  Serpent  alternately  upon  their  flags,  what 
endless  misery  and  confusion,  and  waste  of  human  happi- 
ness! But  the  captains  who  changed  sides  half  a  dozen 
times  in  their  career,  and  were  any  man's  men  who  would 
give  them  high  pay  and  something  to  fight  about,  pur- 
sued their  trade  with  much  impartiality,  troubling  them- 
selves little  about  the  justice  or  injustice  of  their  cause, 
and  still  less,  it  would  appear,  about  any  bond  of  honor 
between  themselves  and  their  masters.  Colleoni  alone 
seems  to  have  had  some  scrupulousness  about  breaking 
his  bond  before  his  legal  time  was  up.  The  others  do 
not  seem  to  have  had  conscience  even  in  this  respect, 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  211 

but  deserted  when  it  pleased  them;  as  often  as  not  in  the 
middle  of  a  campaign. 

Bartolommeo  Colleoni,  or  Coglioni,  as  his  biographer 
calls  him,  was  born  in  the  year  1400,  of  a  family  of  small 
rustic  nobility  near  Bergamo,  but  was  driven  from  his 
home  by  a  family  feud,  in  the  course  of  which  his  father 
was  displaced  from  the  fortress  which  he  seems  to  have 
won  in  the  good  old  way  by  his  spear  and  his  bow — by  a 
conspiracy  headed  by  his  own  brothers.  This  catastrophe 
scattered  the  children  of  Paolo  Colleoni,  and  threw  into 
the  ranks  of  the  free  lances  (which  probably,  however, 
would  have  been  their  destination  in  any  case)  his  young 
sons  as  soon  as  they  were  old  enough  to  carry  a  spear. 
The  first  service  of  Bartolommeo  was  under  the  con- 
dottiere  Braccio,  in  the  service  of  the  Queen  of  Naples, 
where  he  is  said,  by  his  biographer  Spino,  to  have 
acquired,  from  his  earliest  beginnings  in  the  field,  singu- 
lar fame  and  reputation.  It  is  unfortunate  that  this 
biographer,  throughout  the  course  of  his  narrative, 
adopts  the  easy  method  of  attributing  to  Colleoni  all  the 
fine  things  done  in  the  war;  appropriating  without  scruple 
acts  which  are  historically  put  to  the  credit  of  his  com- 
manders. It  is  possible,  no  doubt,  that  he  is  right,  and 
that  the  young  officer  suggested  to  Gattamelata  his 
famous  retreat  over  the  mountains,  and  to  the  engineer 
who  carried  it  out  the  equally  famous  transport  overland 
to  the  Lago  di  Garda  of  certain  galleys  to  which  we  shall 
afterward  refer.  Colleoni  entered  the  service  of  Venice 
at  the  beginning  of  Carmagnola's  first  campaign,  with  a 
force  of  forty  horsemen,  and  his  biographer  at  once 
credits  him,  on  the  authority  of  an  obscure  historian,  with 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  exploits  of  that  war,  the  dar- 
ing seizure  of  a  portion  of  the  fortifications  of  Cremona, 
before  which  Carmagnola's  army  was  lying.  He  was  at 
least  one  of  the  little  party  which  executed  this  feat  of 
arms. 

Bartolommeo,  accompanied  by  Mocimo  da  Lugo,  and  by  Cavalcabue, 
the  son  of  Ugolino,  once  Lord  of  Cremona,  both  captains  in  the  army, 
the  latter  having  friends  in  the  city,  approached  the  walls  by  night,  with 
great  precaution,  and,  on  that  side  where  they  had  been  informed  the  de- 
fenses were  weakest,  placed  their  ladders.  Barlolommeo  was  the  first, 
con  intrepidissimo  animo,  to  ascend  the  wall  and  to  occupy  the  tower  of 
San  Luca,  having  killed  the  commander  and  guards.  News  was  sent  at 
once  to  Carmagnola  of  this  success,  upon  which,  had  he,  according  to 


212  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

their  advice,  hastened   to  attack,  Cremona,  without  doubt,  would   have 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  Venetians. 

The  young  adventurers  held  this  tower  for  three  days, 
as  Quentin  Durward  or  the  three  Mousquetaires  of 
Dumas  might  have  done,  but  finally  were  obliged  to 
descend  as  they  had  come  up,  and  return  to  the  army 
under  cover  of  night,  with  nothing  but  the  name  of  a 
daring  feat  to  reward  them — though  that,  no  doubt,  had 
its  sweetness,  and  also  a  certain  value  in  their  profession. 
The  curious  complication  of  affairs  in  that  strange,  dis- 
tracted country,  may  be  all  the  more  clearly  realized  if 
we  note  that  one  of  the  three,  and  most  probably  the 
leader  of  the  band,  was  a  Cremonese,  familiar  with  all  the 
points  of  vantage  in  the  city,  and  the  son  of  its  former 
lord,  with,  no  doubt,  partisans  and  a  party  of  his  own,  had 
he  been  able  to  push  his  way  out  of  the  Rocca  to  the 
interior  of  the  city.  Thus  there  was  always  someone 
who,  even  in  the  subjection  of  his  native  place  to  the 
republic,  may  have  hoped  for  a  return  of  his  own  family, 
or  at  least  for  vengeance  upon  the  neighboring  despot 
that  had  cast  it  out. 

We  hear  of  Colleoni  next  in  a  rapid  night  march  to 
Bergamo,  which  was  the  original  home  of  his  own  race, 
and  which  was  threatened  by  the  Milanese  forces  under 
Piccinino.  Knowing  the  city  to  be  without  means  of  de- 
fense, though  apparently  still  in  a  state  of  temporary 
independence,  Colleoni  proposed  to  his  commanders  to 
hurry  thither  and  occupy  and  prepare  it  for  the  approach- 
ing attack,  with  the  condition,  however,  that  the  affairs 
of  the  city,  lecose  de  Bergamaschi,  at  least  within  the  walls, 
should  receive  no  damage — another  consolatory  gleam  of 
patriotism  in  the  midst  of  all  the  fierce  selfishness  of  the 
time.  With  his  usual  promptitude,  and  what  his  biogra- 
pher calls  animosita,  impetuosity,  he  rushed  across  the 
country  while  Piccinino  was  amusing  himself  with  the  lit- 
tle independent  castles  about;  "robbing  and  destroying 
the  country,  having  given  orders  that  whatever  could  not 
be  carried  away  should  be  burned;  so  that  in  a  very  short 
time  the  villages  and  castles  of  the  valleys  Callepia  and 
Trescoria  were  reduced  to  the  semblance  and  aspect  of  a 
vast  and  frightful  solitude."  Colleoni  had  only  his  own 
little  force  of  horsemen  and  three  hundred  infantry,  and 
had  he  come  across  the  route  of  the  Milanese,  would  have 


BY   SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  213 

been  but  a  mouthful  to  that  big  enemy.  But  he  carried 
his  little  band  along  with  such  energy  and  inspiration  of 
impetuous  genius  that  they  reached  Bergamo  while  still 
the  foe  was  busy  with  the  blazing  villages;  and  had  time 
to  strengthen  the  fortifications  and  increase  both  ammu- 
nition and  men  before  the  approach  of  Piccinino,  who, 
finally  repulsed  from  the  walls  of  the  city  in  which  he  had 
expected  to  find  an  easy  prey  and  harbor  for  the  stormy 
season, — and  exposed  to  that  other  enemy,  which  nobody 
in  those  days  attempted  to  make  head  against,  the  winter, 
with  its  chilling  forces  of  rain  and  snow, — streamed  back 
disconsolate  to  Milan  al  suo  Duca,  who  probably  was  not 
at  all  glad  to  see  him,  and  expected  with  reason  that  so 
great  a  captain  as  Piccinino  would  have  kept  his  troops 
at  the  expense  of  Bergamo,  or  some  other  conquered  city, 
until  he  could  take  the  field  again,  instead  of  bringing 
such  a  costly  and  troublesome  following  home. 

We  cannot,  however,  follow  at  length  the  feats  which 
his  biographer  ascribes  to  Colleoni's  animosita  and  im- 
petuous spirit,  which';was  combined,  according  to  the  same 
authority,  with  a  prudence  and  foresight  "above  the 
captains  of  his  time." 

One  of  these  was  the  extraordinary  piece  of  engineer- 
ing by  which  a  small  fleet,  including  one  or  two  galleys, 
was  transported  from  the  Adige  to  the  Lago  di  Garda 
over  the  mountain  pass,  apparently  that  between  Mori 
and  Riva.  Near  the  top  of  the  pass  is  a  small  lake  called 
now  the  Lago  di  Loppio;  a  little  mountain  tarn,  which 
afforded  a  momentary  breathing  space  to  the  workmen 
and  engineers  of  this  wonderful  piece  of  work.  The 
galleys,  "  two  of  great  size  and  three  smaller,"  along  with 
a  number  of  little  boats  which  were  put  upon  carts,  were 
dragged  over  the  pass,  with  infinite  labor  and  pains,  and 
it  was  only  in  the  third  month  that  the  armata — the  little 
squadron  painfully  drawn  down  hill  by  means  of  the 
channel  of  a  mountain  stream — found  its  way  to  the  lake 
at  last.  This  wonderful  feat  was  the  work,  according  to 
Sabellico,  of  a  certain  Sorbolo  of  Candia.  But  the  biog- 
rapher of  Colleoni  boldly  claims  the  idea  for  his  hero, 
asserting  with  some  appearance  of  justice  that  the  fathers 
of  Venice  would  not  have  consented  to  such  a  scheme 
upon  the  word  of  an  altogether  unknown  man,  who  was 
simply  the  engineer  who  carried  it  out.  It  was  for  the 


214  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

purpose  of  supplying  provisions  to  Brescia,  then  closely 
besieged,  that  this  great  work  was  done.  Sabellico  gives 
a  less  satisfactory  but  still  more  imposing  reason.  "It 
was  supposed,"  he  says,  "that  the  intention  of  the 
Venetian  senators  was  rather  to  encourage  the  Brescians, 
than  for  any  other  motive,  as  they  were  aware  that  these 
ships  were  of  no  use;  the  district  being  so  full  of  the 
enemy's  forces  that  no  one  could  approach  Brescia,  and 
great  doubts  being  entertained  whether  it  would  be  possi- 
ble to  retain  Verona  and  Vicenza."  On  the  other  hand, 
Spino  declares  that  the  armata  fulfilled  its  purpose  and 
secured  the  passage  of  provisions  to  Brescia.  It  was,  at 
any  rate,  a  magnificent  way  of  keeping  the  beleaguered 
city,  and  all  the  other  alarmed  dependencies  of  Venice, 
in  good  heart  and  hope. 

None  of  our  historians  have,  however,  a  happy  hand  in 
their  narratives  of  these  wars.  They  are  given  in  end- 
less repetitions,  and  indeed,  were  without  any  human 
interest,  even  that  of  bloodshed;  an  eternal  see-saw  of 
cities  taken  and  retaken,  of  meaningless  movements  of 
troops,  and  chess-board  battles  gained  and  lost.  One  of 
the  greatest  of  these,  in  which  Colleoni  was  one  of  the 
leaders  against  Sforza,  who  led  the  troops  of  Milan,  bore 
a  strong  resemblance  to  that  battle  of  Maclodio,  in  which 
Carmagnola  won  so  great  but  so  unfortunate  a  victory. 
Sforza  had  established  himself,  as  his  predecessor  had 
done,  among  the  marshes;  and  although,  at  the  first  onset, 
the  Venetians  had  the  best  of  it,  their  success  was  but 
momentary,  and  the  troops  were  soon  wildly  flying  and 
floundering  over  the  treacherous  ground.  Colleoni,  who 
led  the  reserve  and  who  made  a  stand  as  long  as  he  could, 
escaped  at  last  on  foot,  Sanudo  says,  who  writes  the 
woeful  news  as  it  arrives  at  the  fifteenth  hour  of  the  i5th 
of  September,  1448.  "The  Proveditori  Almoro  Donate 
and  Guado  Dandolo  were  made  prisoners,"  he  says, 
"which  Proveditori  were  advised  by  many  that  they 
ought  to  fly  and  save  themselves,  but  answered  that  they 
would  rather  die  beside  the  ensigns  than  save  themselves 
by  a  shameful  flight.  And  note,"  adds  the  faithful 
chronicler,  "  that  in  this  rout  only  one  of  our  troops  was 
killed,  the  rest  being  taken  prisoners  and  many  of  them 
caught  in  the  marshes."  The  flight  of  the  mercenaries 
on  every  side,  while  the  two  proud  Venetians  stood  by 


BY    SEA    AND    BY    LAND.  215 

their  flag,  perhaps  the  only  men  of  all  that  host  who  cared 
in  their  hearts  what  became  of  St.  Mark's  often-triumph- 
ant Lion,  affords  another  curious  picture  in  illustration  of 
surely  the  strangest  warfare  ever  practiced  among  men. 

But  not  for  this  [Sanudo  goes  on]  was  the  doge  discouraged,  but 
came  to  the  council  with  more  vigor  than  ever,  and  the  question  was 
how  to  reconstruct  the  army,  so  that,  having  plenty  of  money,  they  should 
establish  the  camp  again  as  it  was  at  first. 

Thus  Venetian  pride  and  gold  triumphed  over  mis- 
fortune. The  most  energetic  measures  were  taken  at 
once  with  large  offers  of  pay  and  remittances  of  money, 
and  the  broken  bands  were  gradually  regathered  together. 
Sforza,  after  his  victory,  pushed  on,  taking  and  ravaging 
everything  till  he  came  once  more  to  the  gates  of  Brescia, 
where  again  the  sturdy  citizens  prepared  themselves  for 
a  siege.  In  the  meantime  pairs  of  anxious  Proveditori 
with  sacks  of  money  went  off  at  once  to  every  point  of 
danger;  thirty  thousand  ducats  fell  to  the  share  of  Brescia 
alone.  At  Verona,  these  grave  officials  "  day  and  night 
were  in  waiting  to  enroll  men,  and  very  shortly  had  col- 
lected a  great  army  by  means  of  the  large  payments  they 
made." 

While  these  tremendous  efforts  were  in  the  course  of 
making,  once  more  the  whole  tide  of  affairs  was  changed 
as  by  a  magician's  wand.  The  people  of  Milan  had 
called  Sforza  back  on  their  duke's  death,  but  had  held  his 
power  in  constant  suspicion,  and  were  now  seized  with 
alarm  lest,  flushed  with  victory  as  he  was,  he  should  take 
that  duke's  place — which  was  indeed  his  determination. 
They  seized  the  occasion  accordingly,  and  now  rose 
against  his  growing  power,  "desiring  to  maintain  them- 
selves in  freedom."  Sforza  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than 
he  stopped  fighting,  and  by  the  handy  help  of  one  of  the 
Proveditori  who  had  been  taken  in  the  battle  of  the 
marshes,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  a  friend  of  his  secre- 
tary Simonetta,  made  overtures  of  peace  to  Venice,  which 
were  as  readily  accepted.  So  that  on  the  i8th  of  October 
of  the  same  year,  little  more  than  a  month  after  the 
disastrous  rout  above  recorded,  articles  of  peace  were 
signed,  by  which  the  aid  of  four  thousand  horsemen  and 
two  thousand  foot  was  granted  to  Sforza,  along  with  a 
subsidy  of  thirteen  thousand  ducats  a  month,  according 


2l6  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

to  Sanudo,  though  one  cannot  help  feeling  that  an  extra 
cipher  must  have  crept  into  the  statement.  Venice 
regained  all  she  had  lost;  and  the  transformation  scene 
having  thus  once  more  taken  place,  our  Colleoni  among 
others,  so  lately  a  fugitive  before  the  victorious  Milanese, 
settled  calmly  down  in  his  saddle  once  more  as  a  lieu- 
tenant of  Sforza's  army,  as  if  no  battle  or  hostility  had 
ever  been. 

A  curious  domestic  incident  appears  in  the  midst  of  the 
continued  phantasmagoria  of  this  endless  fighting.  The 
Florentines,  more  indifferent  to  consistency  than  the 
Venetians,  and  always  pleased  to  humiliate  a  sister  state, 
not  only  supported  Sforza  against  the  Milanese,  but  pre- 
sumed to  remonstrate  with  the  Signoria  when,  after  a  time, 
getting  alarmed  by  his  growing  power,  they  withdrew 
from  their  alliance  with  him.  This  was  promptly 
answered  by  a  decree  expelling  all  Florentine  inhabitants 
from  Venice,  and  forbidding  them  the  exercise  of  any 
commercial  transactions  within  the  town.  Shortly  before, 
King  Alfonzo  of  Naples  had  made  the  same  order  in 
respect  to  the  Venetians  in  his  kingdom.  These  arbi- 
trary acts  probably  did  more  real  damage  than  the  blood- 
less battles  which,  with  constant  change  of  combinations, 
were  going  on  on  every  side. 

The  remaining  facts  of  Colleoni's  career  were  few. 
Notwithstanding  a  trifling  blacksliding  in  the  matter  of 
aiding  Sforza,  he  was  engaged  as  captain-general  of  the 
Venetian  forces  in  1455,  and  remained  in  this  office  till 
the  term  of  his  engagement  was  completed,  which  seems 
to  have  been  ten  years.  He  then,  Sanudo  tells  us, 
"treated  with  Madonna  Bianca,  Duchess  of  Milan" 
(Sforza  being  just  dead),  "  to  procure  the  hand  of  one  of 
her  daughters  for  his  son.  But  the  marriage  did  not 
take  place,  and  he  resumed  his  engagements  with  our 
Signoria."  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  this  pro- 
posal could  have  been  made,  as  to  all  appearance  Col- 
leoni left  no  son  behind  him,  a  fact  which  is  also  stated 
in  respect  to  most  of  the  generals  of  the  time — a  benevo- 
lent interposition  of  nature,  one  cannot  but  think,  for 
cutting  off  that  seed  of  dragons.  The  only  other  men- 
tion of  him  in  the  Venetian  records  is  the  announcement 
of  his  death,  which  took  place  in  October,  1475,  in  n*s 
castle  of  Malpaga,  surrounded  by  all  the  luxury  and 


BY   SEA    AND   BY    LAND.  217 

wealth  of  the  time.  He  was  of  the  same  age  as  the  cen- 
tury, and  a  completely  prosperous  and  successful  man, 
except  in  that  matter  of  male  children  with  which,  his 
biographer  naively  tells  us,  he  never  ceased  to  attempt 
to  provide  himself,  but  always  in  vain.  He  left  a  splen- 
dic  legacy  to  the  republic  which  he  had  served  so  long — 
with  aberrations,  which,  no  doubt,  were  by  that  time  for- 
gotten— no  less  than  two  hundred  and  sixteen  thousand 
ducats,  Sanudo  says,  besides  arms,  horses,  and  other 
articles  of  value.  The  grateful  Signoria,  overwhelmed 
by  such  liberality,  resolved  to  make  him  a  statue  with  a 
portion  of  the  money.  And  accordingly,  there  he  stands 
to  this  day,  by  the  peaceful  portals  of  San  Zanipolo; 
ready  at  any  moment  to  ride  down  any  insolent  stranger 
who  lifts  a  finger  against  Venice.  Appropriately  enough 
to  such  a  magnificent  piece  of  work  it  is  not  quite  clear 
who  made  it,  and  it  is  impossible  to  open  a  guidebook 
without  lighting  upon  a  discussion  as  to  how  far  it  is 
Verocchio's  and  how  far  Leopardi's.  He  of  the  true  eye 
at  all  events  had  a  large  hand  in  it,  and  never  proved  his 
gift  more  completely  than  in  the  splendid  force  of  this 
wonderful  horseman.  The  power  and  thorough-going 
strength  in  him  have  impressed  the  popular  imagination, 
as  it  was  very  natural  they  should,  and  given  him  a  false 
importance  to  the  imaginative  spectator.  It  is  a  great 
thing  for  a  man  when  he  has  some  slave  of  genius  either 
with  pen  or  brush  or  plastic  clay  to  make  his  portrait. 
Sforza  was  a  much  greater  general  than  Colleoni,  but  had 
no  Verocchio  to  model  him.  Indeed  our  Bartolommeo 
has  no  pretensions  to  stand  in  the  first  rank  of  the 
mediaeval  condottieri.  He  is  but  a  vulgar  swordsman 
beside  Carmagnola,  or  Sforza  or  Piccinino.  But  perhaps 
from  this  fact  he  is  a  better  example  than  either  of  them 
of  the  hired  captains  of  his  time. 

The  possessions  of  Venice  were  but  little  increased  by 
the  seventy  years  of  fighting  which  ensued  after  Carma- 
gnola had  won  Brescia  and  Bergamo  for  her,  and  involved 
her  in  all  the  troubles  and  agitations  of  a  continental 
principality.  She  gained  Cremona  in  the  end  of  the 
century,  and  she  lost  nothing  of  any  importance  which 
had  been  once  acquired.  But  her  province  of  terra  firma 
cost  her  probably  more  than  it  was  worth  to  her  to  be 
the  possessor  even  of  such  fertile  fields  and  famous  cities. 


2l8  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

The  unfailing  energy,  the  wealth,  the  determined  pur- 
pose of  the  great  republic  were,  however,  never  more 
conspicuous  than  in  the  struggle  which  she  maintained 
for  the  preservation  of  the  province.  She  had  the  worst 
of  it  in  a  great  number  of  cases,  but  the  loss  was  chiefly 
to  her  purse  and  her  vanity.  The  pawns  with  which  she 
played  that  exciting  game  were  not  of  her  own  flesh  and 
blood.  The  largo pagamento  with  which  she  was  prepared 
was  always  enough  to  secure  a  new  army  when  the  other 
was  sped ;  and  notwithstanding  all  her  losses  at  sea  and  in 
the  East,  and  the  idleness  which  began  to  steal  into  the 
being  of  the  new  generations,  she  was  yet  so  rich  and 
overflowing  with  wealth  that  her  expenditure  abroad  took 
nothing  from  the  lavish  magnificence  of  all  her  festivals 
and  holidays  at  home.  Her  ruler  during  all  the  period 
at  which  we  have  here  hurriedly  glanced  was  Francesco 
Foscari,  he  against  whom  his  predecessor  had  warned  the 
Signoriaas  a  man  full  of  restlessness  and  ambition,  whose 
life  would  be  a  constant  series  of  wars.  Never  did  pre- 
diction come  more  true;  and  though  it  seems  difficult  to 
see  how,  amid  all  the  stern  limits  of  the  doge's  privileges, 
it  could  matter  very  much  what  his  character  was,  yet 
this  man,  in  the  time  of  his  manhood  and  strength,  must 
have  been  able,  above  others,  to  influence  his  govern- 
ment and  his  race.  The  reader  has  already  seen  amid 
what  reverses  this  splendid  and  powerful  ruler,  after  all 
the  conflicts  and  successes  in  which  he  was  the  leading 
spirit,  ended  his  career. 


PART  III.  — THE  PAINTERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    THREE    EARLY    MASTERS. 

IT  is  one  of  the  favorite  occupations  of  this  age  to 
trace  every  new  manifestation  of  human  genius  or  force 
through  a  course  of  development,  and  to  prove  that  in 
reality  no  special  genius  or  distinct  and  individual  im- 
pulse is  wanted  at  all,  but  only  a  gradual  quickening,  as 
might  be  in  the  development  of  a  grain  of  corn  or  an 
acorn  from  the  tree.  I  am  not  myself  capable  of  looking 
at  the  great  sudden  advances  which,  in  every  department 
of  thought  and  invention,  are  made  from  time  to  time, 
in  this  way.  Why  it  should  be  that  in  a  moment  by  the 
means  of  two  youths  in  a  Venetian  house,  not  distin- 
guishable in  any  way  from  other  boys,  nor  especially 
from  the  sons  of  other  poor  painters,  members  of  the 
scuola  of  S.  Luca,  which  had  long  existed  in  Venice,  and 
produced  dim  pictures  not  without  merit,  the  art  of 
painting  should  have  sprung  at  once  into  the  noblest 
place;  and  that  nothing  which  all  the  generations  have 
done  since  with  all  their  inventions  and  appliances, 
should  ever  have  bettered  the  Bellini,  seems  to  me  one 
of  those  miraculous  circumstances  with  which  the  world 
abounds,  and  which  illustrate  this  wayward,  splendid, 
and  futile  humanity  better  than  any  history  of  develop- 
ment could  do. 

The  art  of  painting  had  flourished  dimly  in  Venice  for 
long.  The  love  of  decorative  art  seems  indeed  to  have 
been  from  its  very  beginning  characteristic  of  the  city. 
Among  the  very  earliest  products  of  her  voyages,  as  soon 
as  the  infant  state  was  strong  enough  to  have  any  thought 
beyond  mere  subsistence,  were  the  beautiful  things  from 
the  East  with  which,  first  the  churches,  and  then  the 
houses,  were  adorned.  But  the  art  of  painting,  though  its 

919 


220  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

earliest  productions  seem  to  have  been  received  with 
eagerness  and  honor,  lingered  and  made  little  progress. 
In  Murano — where  glass-making  had  been  long  estab- 
lished, and  where  fancy  must  have  been  roused  by  the 
fantastic  art,  so  curious,  so  seemingly  impossible,  of 
blowing  liquid  metal  into  forms  of  visionary  light,  like 
bubbles,  yet  hard,  tenacious,  and  clear,  the  first  impulse 
of  delineation  arose,  but  came  to  no  remarkable  success. 
There  is  much  indeed  that  is  beautiful  in  the  pictures  of 
some  of  these  dim  and  early  masters  amid  the  mists  of 
the  lagoons.  But  with  the  Bellini  the  pictorial  art  came 
like  Athene,  full  arrayed  in  maturity  of  celestial  god- 
hood,  a  sight  for  all  men.  It  is  a  doubtful  explanation  of 
this  strange  difference  to  say  that  their  father  had  fore- 
gathered in  the  far  distance,  in  his  little  workshop,  with 
Donatello  from  Florence,  or  studied  his  art  under  the 
instructions  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano.  The  last  privilege 
at  least  was  not  special  to  him,  but  must  have  been 
shared  with  many  others  of  the  devout  and  simple  work- 
men who  had  each  his  little  manufactory  of  Madonnas 
for  the  constant  consumption  of  the  Church.  But  when 
Jacopo  Bellini  with  his  two  sons  came  from  Padua  and 
settled  near  the  Rialto,  the  day  of  Venice,  so  far  as  the 
pictorial  art  is  concerned,  had  begun.  They  sprang  at 
once  to  a  different  standing  ground  altogether,  as  far 
beyond  the  work  of  their  contemporaries  as  Dante  was 
above  his.  No  theory  has  ever  explained  to  the  human 
intelligence  how  such  a  thing  can  be.  It  is;  and  in  the 
sudden  bound  which  Genius  takes  out  of  all  the  trammels 
of  the  ordinary — an  unaccountable,  unreasonable,  inimi- 
table initiative  of  its  own — arise  the  epochs  and  is  summed 
up  the  history  of  Art. 

It  must  have  been  nearly  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century  when  the  Bellini  began  to  make  themselves 
known  in  Venice.  Mediaeval  history  does  not  concern 
itself  with  dates  in  respect  to  such  humble  members,  of 
the  commonwealth,  and  about  the  father  Jacopo,  it  is 
impossible  to  tell  how  long  he  lived  or  when  he  died. 
He  was  a  pupil,  as  has  been  said,  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano, 
and  went  with  him  to  Florence  in  his  youth,  and  thus 
came  in  contact  with  the  great  Tuscan  school  and  its 
usages;  and  it  is  known  that  he  settled  for  some  time  at 
Padua,  where  his  sons  had  at  least  a  part  of  their  educa- 


THE    PAINTERS.  221 

tion,  and  where  he  married  his  daughter  to  Andrea 
Mantegna;  therefore  the  school  of  Padua  had  also 
something  to  do  with  the  training  of  these  two  young 
men;  but  whether  they  first  saw  the  light  in  Venice,  or 
when  the  family  returned  there,  it  is  not  known. 
Jacopo,  the  father,  exercised  his  art  in  a  mild,  mediocre 
way,  no  better  or  worse  than  the  ordinary  members  of 
the  scuola.  Probably  his  sons  were  still  young  when  he 
returned  to  the  Rialto,  where  the  family  house  was;  for 
there  is  no  indication  that  Gentile  or  Giovanni  were 
known  in  Padua,  nor  can  we  trace  at  what  period  it 
began  to  be  apparent  in  Venice  that  Jacopo  Bellini's 
modest  workshop  was  sending  forth  altar-pieces  and 
little  sacred  pictures  such  as  had  never  before  been 
known  to  come  from  his  hand.  That  this  fact  would 
soon  appear  in  such  an  abundant  and  ever-circulating 
society  of  artists,  more  than  usually  brought  together 
by  the  rules  of  the  scuola  and  the  freemasonry  common 
to  artists  everywhere,  can  scarcely  be  doubted;  but  dates 
there  are  few.  It  is  difficult  even  to  come  to  any  clear 
understanding  as  to  the  first  great  public  undertaking  in 
the  way  of  art — the  decoration  of  the  hall  of  the  Consiglio 
Maggiore.  It  was  begun,  we  are  told,  in  the  reign  of 
Marco  Cornaro,  in  the  middle  of  the  previous  century; 
but  both  the  brothers  Bellini  were  engaged  upon  it  when 
they  first  come  into  sight,  and  it  seems  to  have  given 
occupation  to  all  the  painters  of  their  age.  Kugler 
mentions  1456  as  the  probable  date  of  a  picture  of 
Giovanni  Bellini;  but  though  this  is  conjectural,  Bellini 
(he  signs  himself  "Juan  "  in  the  receipt  preserved  in  the 
Sala  Margherita  at  the  Archivio,  which  is  occasionally 
altered  into  "  Zuan  "  in  the  documents  of  the  time)  would 
at  that  date  be  about  thirty,  and  no  doubt  both  he  and 
his  brother  were  deep  in  work  and  more  or  less  known 
to  fame  before  that  age. 

It  was  not  till  a  much  later  period,  however,  that  an 
event  occurred  of  the  greatest  importance  in  the  history 
of  art — the  arrival  in  Venice  of  Antonello  of  Messina,  a 
painter  chiefly,  it  would  seem,  of  portraits,  who  brought 
with  him  the  great  discovery  of  the  use  of  oil  in  painting 
which  had  been  made  by  Jan  van  Eyck  in  Bruges  some 
time  before.  Antonello  had  got  it,  Vasari  says,  from 
the  inventor  himself;  but  a  difficulty  of  dates  makes  it 


222  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

more  probable  that  Hans  Memling  was  the  Giovanni  di 
Bruggia  whose  confidence  the  gay  young  Sicilian  gained, 
perhaps  by  his  lute  and  his  music  and  all  his  pleasant 
ways.  Antonello  came  to  Venice  in  1473,  and  was 
received  as  a  stranger — especially  a  stranger  with  some 
new  thing  to  show — seems  to  have  always  been  in  the 
sensation-loving  city.  But  when  they  first  saw  his  work, 
the  painter  brotherhoods,  the  busy  and  rising  scuole, 
received  a  sensation  of  another  kind.  Up  to  this  time 
the  only  known  medium  of  painting  had  been  distemper, 
and  in  this  they  were  all  at  work,  getting  what  softness 
and  richness  they  could,  and  that  morbidczza,  the  melting 
roundness  which  the  Italians  loved,  as  much  as  they 
could,  by  every  possible  contrivance  and  exertion  out  of 
their  difficult  material.  But  the  first  canvas  which  the 
Sicilian  set  up  to  show  his  new  patrons  and  professional 
emulators  was  at  once  a  revolution  and  a  wonder. 
Those  dark  and  glowing  faces,  which  still  look  at  us  with 
such  a  force  of  life,  must  have  shone  with  a  serene 
superiority  upon  the  astonished  gazers  who  knew  indeed 
how  to  draw  from  nature  and  find  the  secret  of  her  senti- 
ment and  expression  as  well  as  Antonello,  but  not  how 
to  attain  that  luster  and  colidity  of  texture,  that  bloom 
of  the  cheek  and  light  in  the  eye,  which  were  so  extraor- 
dinarily superior  to  anything  that  could  be  obtained 
from  the  comparatively  dry  and  thin  colors  of  the 
ancient  method.  This  novelty  created  such  a  flutter  in 
the  workships  as  no  wars  or  commotions  could  call 
forth.  How  could  that  warmth  and  glow  of  life  be  got 
upon  a  piece  of  canvas?  One  can  imagine  the  painters 
gathering,  discussing  in  storms  of  soft  Venetian  talk  and 
boundless  argument;  the  Vivarini  hurrying  over  in  their 
boats  from  Murano,  and  every  lively  cena  and  moonlight 
promenade  upon  the  lagoon  apt  in  a  moment  to  burst 
into  tempests  of  debate  as  to  what  was  this  new  thing. 
And  on  their  scaffoldings  in  the  great  hall  of  the  Palazzo, 
where  they  were  dashing  in  their  great  frescoes,  what  a 
hum  of  commotion  would  run  round.  How  did  he  get  it, 
that  light  and.  luster,  and  how  could  they  discover  what  it 
was,  and  share  the  benefit? 

The  story  which  is  told  by  Ridolfi,  but  which  the  his- 
torians of  a  more  critical  school  reject  as  fabulous,  is  at 
all  events  in  no  way  unlikely  or  untrue  to  nature,  or  the 


THE    PAINTERS.  223 

eager  curiosity  of  the  artists,  or  Venetian  ways.  These 
were  the  days,  it  must  be  recollected,  when  craftsmen 
kept  the  secret  of  their  inventions  and  discoveries 
jealously  to  themselves,  and  it  was  a  legitimate  as  well  as 
a  natural  effort,  if  one  could,  to  find  them  out.  The 
story  goes  that  Giovanni  Bellini,  by  this  time  at  the 
head  of  the  painters  in  Venice,  the  natural  and  proper 
person  to  take  action  in  any  such  matter,  being  unable 
to  discover  Antonello's  secret  by  fair  means,  got  it  by 
what  we  can  scarcely  call  foul,  though  it  was  a  trick. 
But  the  trick  was  not  a  very  bad  one,  and  doubtless, 
among  men  of  their  condition,  might  be  laughed  over  as 
a  good  joke  when  it  was  over.  What  Bellini  did,  "  feign- 
ing to  be -a.  gentleman,"  was  to  commission  Antonello  to 
paint  his  portrait — an  expedient  which  gave  him  the 
best  opportunity  possible  for  studying  the  stranger's 
method.  If  it  were  necessary  here  to  examine  this  tale 
rigorously,  we  should  say  that  it  was  highly  unlikely  so 
distinguished  a  painter  as  Bellini  could  be  unknown  to 
the  newcomer,  who  must,  one  would  think,  have  been 
eager  to  make  acquaintance,  on  his  first  arrival,  with  the 
greatest  of  Venetian  artists.  But  at  all  events  it  is  a 
picturesque  incident.  One  can  imagine  the  great  painter, 
"  feigning  to  be  a  gentleman,"  seating  himself  with  a 
solemnity  in  which  there  must  have  been  a  great  deal  of 
grim  humor  in  the  sitter's  chair — he  had  put  on  "the 
Venetian  toga  "  for  the  occasion,  Ridolfi  says,  evidently 
something  different  from  the  usual  grab  of  the  artist,  and 
no  doubt  felt  a  little  embarrassment  mingling  with  his 
professional  sense  of  what  was  most  graceful  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  unaccustomed  robe.  But  this  would 
not  prevent  him  from  noting  all  the  time,  under  his  eye- 
lids, with  true  professional  vision,  the  colors  on  the 
palette,  the  vials  on  the  table,  the  sheaf  of  brushes — 
losing  no  movement  of  the  painter,  and  quick  to  note 
what  compound  it  was  into  which  he  dipped  his  pencil 
— "  osservando  Giovanni  che  di  quando  in  quando  inten- 
geva  il  pennello  nell'  oglio  di  lin,  venne  in  cognizione  del 
modo,"  "  seeing  him  dip  his  brush  from  time  to  time  in 
oil,"  which  perhaps  was  the  primitive  way  of  using  the 
new  method.  One  wonders  if  Antonello  ever  finished 
the  portrait;  if  it  was  he  who  set  forth  the  well-known 
image  of  the  burly  master  with  his  outspreading  mop  of 


224  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

russet  hair;  or  if  the  Venetian  after  a  while  threw  off  his 
toga,  and  with  a  big  laugh  and  roar  of  good-humored 
triumph  announced  that  his  purpose  was  served  and  all 
that  he  wanted  gained. 

There  is  another  version  of  the  manner  in  which  An- 
tonello's  secret  was  discovered  in  Venice.  Of  this  later 
story  it  is  Vasari  who  is  the  author.  He,  on  his  side, 
develops  out  of  the  dim  crowd  of  lesser  artists  a  certain 
Domenico  Veniziano,  who  was  the  first  to  make  friends 
with  the  Sicilian.  Antonello,  for  the  love  he  bore  him, 
communicated  his  secret,  Vasari  says,  to  this  young 
man,  who  for  a  time  triumphed  over  all  competitors;  but 
afterward,  coming  to  Florence,  was  in  his  turn  cajoled  out 
of  the  much-prized  information  by  a  Florentine  painter, 
Andrea  del  Castegna,  who,  envious  of  Domenico's  success, 
afterward  waylaid  him  and  killed  him  as  he  was  returning 
from  his  usual  evening  diversions.  This  anecdote  has 
been  taken  to  pieces  as  usual  by  later  historians  jealous 
for  exactness,  who  have  discovered  that  Domenico  of 
Venice  outlived  his  supposed  murderer  by  several  years. 
Vasari  is  so  very  certain  on  the  point,  however,  that  we 
cannot  help  feeling  that  something  of  the  kind  he 
describes,  some  assault  must  have  been  made — a  quarrel 
perhaps  sharper  than  usual;  an  attempt  at  vengeance  for 
some  affront,  though  it  did  not  have  the  fatal  termination 
which  he  supposes. 

Vasari,  however,  in  telling  this  story,  affords  us  an 
interesting  glimpse  of  the  condition  of  Venice  at  the 
period.  Politically,  it  was  not  a  happy  moment.  While 
the  republic  exhausted  her  resources  in  the  wars  described 
in  our  last  chapters,  her  dominion  in  the  East,  as  well  as 
her  trade,  had  been  greatly  impaired.  The  Turk,  that 
terror  of  Christendom,  had  cruelly  besieged  and  finally 
taken  several  towns  and  strong  places  along  the  Dalma- 
tian coast;  he  had  been  in  Friuli  murdering  and  ravag- 
ing. The  interrupted  and  uncertain  triumphs  of  the 
terra-firma  wars  were  but  little  compensation  for  these 
disasters,  and  the  time  was  approaching  when  Venice 
should  be  compelled  to  withdraw  from  many  more  of  her 
Eastern  possessions,  leaving  a  town  here,  an  island  there, 
to  the  Prophet  and  his  hordes.  But  within  the  city  it  is 
evident  nothing  of  the  kind  affected  the  general  life  of 
pleasure  and  display  and  enjoyment  that  was  going  on. 


THE    PAINTERS.  225 

The  doges  were  less  powerful,  but  more  splendid  than 
ever;  the  canals  echoed  with  song  and  shone  with  gay 
processions;  the  great  patrician  houses  grew  more  impos- 
ing and  their  decorations  more  beautiful  every  day. 
The  ducal  palace  had  at  last  settled,  after  many  changes, 
into  the  form  we  now  know;  the  great  public  under- 
taking which  was  a  national  tribute  ta  the  growing 
importance  of  art  was  being  pushed  forward  to  com- 
pletion; and  though  the  great  Venetian  painters,  like 
other  painters  in  other  ages,  seem  to  have  found  the 
state  a  shabby  paymaster,  and  to  have  sometimes  shirked 
and  always  dallied  in  the  execution  of  its  commissions, 
yet,  no  doubt,  public  patronage  was  at  once  a  sign  of  the 
quickened  interest  in  art  and  a  means  of  increasing  that 
interest. 

The  frescoes  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  were  in 
full  course  of  execution  when  the  Sicilian  Antonello  with 
his  great  secret  came  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  magnifi- 
cent and  delightful  city  of  the  seas — a  place  where  every 
rich  man  was  the  artist's  patron,  and  every  gentleman  a 
dilettante,  and  a  new  triumphant  day  of  art  was  dawning, 
and  the  streets  were  full  of  songs  and  pleasure,  and  the 
studios  of  enthusiasm,  and  beauty  and  delight  were 
supreme  everywhere,  notwithstanding  that,  in  the  silence, 
— by  anyone  who  listened, — the  wild  and  jangled  bells 
might  almost  be  heard  from  besieged  cities  that  were  soon 
no  longer  to  be  Venetian,  calling  every  man  to  arms  within 
their  walls,  and  appealing  for  help  to  heaven  and  earth. 
Such  vulgar  external  matters  do  not  move  the  historian 
of  the  painters,  and  are  invisible  in  his  record.  The 
account  of  Antonello  is  full  of  cheerfulness  and  light. 
"Being  a  person  much  given  to  pleasure,  he  resolved  to 
dwell  there  forever  and  finish  his  life  where  he  had 
found  a  mode  of  existence  so  much  according  to  his 
mind.  And  when  it  was  understood  that  he  had  brought 
that  great  discovery  from  Flanders,  he  was  loved  and 
caressed  by  those  magnificent  gentlemen  as  long  as  he 
lived."  His  friend  Domenico  is  also  described  as  "a 
charming  and  attractive  person,  who  delighted  in  music 
and  in  playing  the  lute;  and  every  evening  they  found 
means  to  enjoy  themselves  together  "  (far  buon  tempo — 
literally,  have  a  good  time,  according  to  the  favorite 
custom  of  our  American  cousins)  "serenading  their 


226  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

sweethearts;  in  which  Domenico  took  great  delight." 
Thus  the  young  painters  lived,  as  still  in  Venice  the 
young  and  gay,  as  far  as  the  habits  of  a  graver  age  per- 
mit, love  to  live — roaming  half  the  night  among  the  canals 
or  along  the  silvery  edge  of  the  lagoon,  intoxicated  with 
music  and  moonlight  and  the  delicious  accompaniment 
of  liquid  movement  and  rhythmic  oars;  or  amid  the  con- 
tinual pageants  in  the  Piazza,  the  feast  of  brilliant  color 
and  delightful  groups  which  made  the  painters  wild  with 
pleasure;  or  with  a  cluster  of  admiring  and  splendid 
youths  at  every  hand  caressed  and  flattered  by  all  that 
was  noblest  in  Venice.  We  scarcely  think  of  this  high- 
colored  and  brilliant  life  'as  the  proper  background  for 
those  early  painters,  whose  art,  all  the  critics  tell  us, 
derives  its  excellence  from  their  warmer  faith  and  higher 
moral  tone;  but  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  any 
great  social  revolution  took  place  between  the  day  of 
the  Bellini  and  Carpaccio,  and  that  of  Titian.  Vasari's 
description,  corroborated  as  it  is  by  many  others,  refers 
to  a  period  when  the  Bellini  were  in  the  full  force  of  life. 

Nor  are  we  led  to  suppose  that  they  were  distinguished 
by  special  devotion,  or  in  any  way  separated  from  their 
class.  Venice  had  never  been  austere,  but  always  gay. 
There  were  the  light  and  glow  of  a  splendid,  careless, 
exuberant  life  in  her  very  air,  a  current  of  existence  too 
swift  and  full  of  enjoyment  to  be  subdued  even  by  public 
misfortunes  which  were  distant,  and  intensified  by  the 
wonderful  spring,  superior  to  every  damping  influence, 
of  a  new  and  magnificent  development  of  art. 

The  two  Bellini  lived  and  labored  together  during  their 
father's  lifetime,  but  when  he  died,  though  never  losing 
their  mutual  brotherly  esteem  and  tender  friendship, 
separated,  each  to  his  own  path.  Giovanni,  the  youngest 
but  greatest,  continued  faithful  to  the  subjects  and 
methods  in  which  he  had  been  trained,  and  which,  though 
all  the  habits  of  the  world  were  changing,  still  remained 
most  perfectly  understood  and  acceptable  to  his  country- 
men. The  Divine  Mother  and  Child,  with  their  attend- 
ant saints  and  angels,  were  the  favorite  occupation  of  his 
genius.  He  must  have  placed  that  sweet  and  tender 
image  over  scores  of  altars.  Sometimes  the  Virgin 
Mother  sits,  simple  and  sweet,  yet  always  with  a  certain 
grandeur  of  form  and  natural  nobility,  not  the  slim  and 


THE    PAINTERS.  227 

childish  beauty  of  more  conventional  painters,  with  her 
Child  upon  her  knees;  sometimes  enthroned,  holding  the 
Sacred  Infant  erect,  offering  Him  to  the  worship  of  the 
world;  sometimes  with  reverential  humility  watching 
Him  as  He  sleeps,  attended  on  either  side  by  noble 
spectator  figures,  a  little  court  of  devout  beholders,  the 
saints  who  have  suffered  for  His  sake;  often  with  lovely 
children  seated  about  the  steps  of  her  throne,  piping 
tenderly  upon  their  heavenly  flutes,  thrilling  the  chords 
of  a  stringed  instrument,  with  a  serious  sweetness  and 
abstraction,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the  Infant  Lord 
to  whom  their  eyes  are  turned.  No  more  endearing  and 
delightful  image  could  be  than  that  of  these  angel  chil- 
dren. They  were  a  fashion  of  the  age,  growing  in  the 
hands  of  Florentine  Botticelli  into  angelic  youths,  gravely 
meditating  upon  the  wonders  they  foresaw.  In  Raphael, 
though  so  much  later,  they  are  more  divine,  like  little 
kindred  gods,  waiting  in  an  unspeakable  awe  till  the 
great  God  should  be  revealed;  but  in  Bellini  more  sweet 
and  human,  younger,  all  tender  interest  and  delight, 
piping  their  lovely  strains  if  perhaps  they  might  give 
Him  pleasure.  One  cannot  but  conclude  that  he  who 
painted  these  children  at  the  foot  of  every  divine  group 
in  twos  and  threes,  small  exquisite  courtiers  of  the 
Infant  King,  firstfruits  of  humanity,  must  have  found 
his  models  in  children  who  were  his  own,  whose  dimpled, 
delightful  limbs  were  within  reach  of  his  kiss,  and  whose 
unconscious  grace  of  movement  and  wondering  sweet 
eyes  were  before  him  continually.  The  delightful  purity 
and  gravity,  and  at  the  same  time  manliness,  if  we  may 
use  such  a  word,  of  these  pictures,  are  beyond  expression. 
There  is  no  superficial  grace  or  ornament  about  them, 
not  even  the  embrace  and  clinging  together  of  mother 
and  child,  which  in  itself  is  always  so  touching  and 
attractive,  the  attitude  of  humanity  which  perhaps  has  a 
stronger  and  simpler  hold  on  the  affections  than  any 
other.  Bellini's  Madonna,  raising  the  splendid  column 
of  her  throat,  holding  her  head  high  in  a  noble  and 
simple  abstraction,  offers  not  herself  but  her  Child  to  our 
eager  eyes.  She,  too,  is  a  spectator,  though  blessed 
among  women  in  holding  Him,  presenting  Him  to  our 
gaze,  making  of  her  own  perfect  womanhood  His  pedestal 
and  support,  but  all  unconscious  that  prayer  or  gaze  can 


228  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE- 

be  attracted  to  herself,  in  everything  His  first  servant, 
the  handmaid  of  the  Lord.  The  painter  who  set  such  an 
image  before  us  could  scarcely  have  been  without  a  pro- 
found and  tender  respect  for  the  woman's  office,  an  exqui- 
site adoration  for  the  Child. 

While  the  younger  brother  kept  in  this  traditional  path, 
giving  to  it  all  the  inspiration  of  his  manly  and  lofty 
genius,  his  brother  Gentileentered  upon  a  different  way. 
Probably  he  too  began  in  nfs  father's  workshop  with  mild 
Madonnas;  but  ere  long  the  young  painter  must  have 
found  out  that  other  less  sacred  yet  noble  subjects  were 
better  within  his  range  of  power.  His  fancy  must  have 
strayed  away  from  the  primitive  unity  of  the  sacred 
group  into  new  compositions  of  wider  horizon  and  more 
extended  plan.  The  life  that  was  round  him  with  all  its 
breadth  and  rich  variety  must  have  beguiled  him  away 
from  the  ideal.  The  pictures  he  has  left  us  set  Venice 
before  us  in  the  guise  she  then  wore,  as  no  description 
could  do.  In  the  two  great  examples  which  remain  in 
the  Venetian  Accademia  there  is  a  sacred  motive:  they 
are  chapters  in  the  story  of  a  miraculous  holy  cross.  In 
one,  the  sacred  relic  is  being  carried  across  the  Piazza, 
attended  by  a  procession  of  wonderful  figures  in  every 
magnificence  of  white  and  red,  and  gilded  canopy  and 
embroidered  mantle.  And  there  stands  S.  Marco  in  a 
softened  blaze  of  gold  and  color,  with  all  the  fine  lines  of 
its  high  houses  and  colonnades,  the  Campanile  not  stand- 
ing detached  as  now,  but  forming  part  of  the  line  of  the 
great  square;  and  in  the  midst,  looking  at  the  procession, 
or  crossing  calmly  upon  their  own  business,  such  groups 
of  idlers  and  busy  men,  of  Eastern  travelers  and  mer- 
chants, of  gallants  from  the  Broglio,  with  here  and  there 
a  magistrate  sweeping  along  in  his  toga,  or  a  woman  with 
her  child,  as  no  one  had  thought  of  painting  before.  We 
look,  and  the  life  that  has  been  so  long  over,  that  life  in 
which  all  the  offices  and  ceremonies  of  religion  occupy 
the  foreground,  but  where  nothing  pauses  for  them,  and 
business  and  pleasure  both  go  on  unconcerned,  rises  be- 
fore us.  The  Venice  is  not  that  Venice  which  we  know; 
but  it  is  still  most  recognizable,  most  living  and  lifelike. 
No  such  procession  ever  sweeps  now  through  the  great 
Piazza;  but  still  the  white  miters  and  glistening  copes 
pour  through  the  aisles  of  S.  Marco,  so  that  the  stranger 


MAKERS    OF   VEK 

o  herself,  in  everything  -vant, 

of  the  Lord.     The  painter  who  set  such  an 

scarcely  have  been  without  a 
id  tender  respect  for  the  woman's  office,  anexqui- 
ration  for  the  Child. 

lie  younger  brother  kept  in  this  traditional  path, 
tj  to  it  all  the  inspiration  of  his  manly  and  lofty 
s,  his  brother  Gentile  entered  upon  a  different  way. 
ably  he  too  began  in  his  father's  workshop  with  mild 
Madonnas;   but  ere  long  the  young  painter  must   have 
found  out  that  other  less  sacred  yet  noble  subjects  were 
better  within  his  range  of  power.     His  fancy  must  have 
strayed   away   from   the  primitive   unity  of   the  sacred 
group  into  new  compositions  of  wider  horizon  and  more 
extended  plan.     The  .'•:•   '. hat  was  round  him  with  all  its 
breadth  and  rich  variety  must  have  beguiled  him  away 
from  the  ideal.     ":  •<«  he  has  left  us  set  Venice 

before  us  in  the  gVMe  sire  u*<«t  wore,  as  no  description 
could  do.     IT  .^s  which  remain  in 

the  Venetian  t<«  4  sarred  motive:  they 

are  chapters  in  CAMPANILE  OF  ST.  MARK 
one,  the  sacred  roll  •.-.  r.-.-ss  the  Piazza, 

attended  by  a  pn  i  figures  in  every 

magnificence  of  whit<  i  canopy  and 

embroidered  mantle.      A"  S.  Marco  in  a 

softened  blaze  of  gold  ami  -.«.  Hnr-s  si 

its  high  houses  and  colonn  ,le  not  > 

jag  detached  as  now,  but  f  the  line  of  the 

square;  and  in  the  HP.  at  the  procession, 

/ssing  calmly  upon  their  :ness,  such  groups 

'ers  and  busy  men,  of  Eastern  travelers  and   mer- 
\  gallants  from  the  Broglio,  with  here  and  there 
te  sweeping  along  in  his  toga,  or  a  woman  with 
is  no  one  had  thought  of  painting  before.     We 
ife  that  has  been  so  long  over,  that  life  in 
offices  and  ceremonies  of  religion  occupy 
t  where  nothing  pauses  for  them,  and 
busin-  ire  both  go  on  unconcerned,  rises  be- 

fore us.  itce  is  r..-«t  that  Venice  which  we  know; 

but  it  is  v  '    recognizable,  most  living  and  lifelike. 

No  such  '•«-:   -weeps  now  through  the  great 

Piazza;  b  white  miters  and  glistening  < 

pour  through  -•  of  S.  Marco,  so  that  th' 


THE    PAINTERS.  229 

and  pilgrim  may  still  recognize  the  unchangeable  accom- 
paniments of  the  true  faith.  The  picture  is  like  a  book, 
more  absolutely  true  than  any  chronicle ;  representing  not 
only  the  looks  and  the  customs  of  the  occasion,  but  the 
very  scene.  How  eagerly  the  people  must  have  traced 
it  out  when  it  first  was  made  public,  finding  out  in  every 
group  some  known  faces,  some  image  all  the  more  inter- 
esting because  it  was  met  in  the  flesh  every  day!  Is  that 
perhaps  Zuan  Bellini  himself,  with  his  hair  standing  out 
round  his  face,  talking  to  his  companions  about  the  pass- 
ing procession;  pointing  out  the  curious  effects  of  light 
and  shade  upon  the  crimson  capes  and  birettas,  and 
watching  while  the  line  defiles  with  its  glimmer  of  candles 
and  sound  of  psalms  against  the  majestic  shadow  of  the 
houses?  Still  more  characteristic  is  the  other  great 
picture.  The  same  procession,  but  more  in  evidence, 
drawn  out  before  us  with  the  light  in  their  faces  as  they 
wind  along  over  the  bridge,  with  draperies  hung  at  every 
window  and  the  women  looking  out,  at  every  opening 
one  or  two  finely  ornamented  heads  in  elaborate  coifs 
and  hoods;  while  along  the  Fondamenta,  on  the  side  of 
the  canal,  a  row  of  ladies  in  the  most  magnificent  cos- 
tumes, pilgrims  or  votaries  kneeling  close  together,  with 
all  their  ornaments — jeweled  necklaces  and  coronets, 
and  light  veils  of  transparent  tissue  through  which  the 
full  matronly  shoulders  and  countenances  appear  unob- 
scured — look  on,  privileged  spectators,  perhaps  waiting 
to  follow  the  procession.  It  is  a  curious  instance  of  the 
truth  of  the  picture  that  this  is  no  file  of  youthful  beauties 
such  as  a  painter  would  naturally  have  chosen,  but,  with 
scarcely  an  exception,  consists  of  buxom  and  full-blown 
mothers  with  here  and  there  a  child  thrust  in  between. 
It  is  said  by  tradition  that  the  first  of  those  figures,  she 
with  the  crown,  is  Catherine  Cornaro,  the  ex-queen  of 
Cyprus,  probably  come  from  her  retirement  at  Asolo  to 
view  the  procession  and  see  a  little  life  and  gayety,  as  a 
variation  on  the  cultured  retirement  of  that  royal  villa. 
The  object  of  the  picture  is  to  show  how  the  cross,  which 
has  fallen  into  the  canal  by  much  pushing  and  crowding 
of  the  populace,  floats  upright  in  the  water  and  is  mirac- 
ulously rescued  by  its  guardian  in  full  priestly  robes, 
notwithstanding  the  eager  competition  of  all  manner  of 
swimmers  in  costumes  more  handy  for  the  water  who 


230  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

have  dashed  in  on  every  side;  but  this,  though  its  pious 
purpose,  is  not  its  most  interesting  part. 

It  is  difficult,  as  has  been  said,  to  find  any  guidance  of 
dates  in  the  dimness  of  distance,  in  respect  to  matters  so 
unimportant  as  pictures;  and  accordingly  we  are  unable  to 
trace  the  progress  of  the  decoration  in  the  great  hall.  It 
was  delayed  by  many  causes — the  indifference  of  the  Signo- 
ria  and  the  lukewarm  interest  of  the  painters.  Gentile 
Bellini  received  permission  from  the  Signoria  to  go  to  the 
East  in  1479,  an^  is  there  described  as  engaged  on  the 
restoration  of  a  picture  in  this  magnificent  room,  origi- 
nally painted  or  begun  by  his  namesake  (or,  as  we  should 
say  in  Scotland,  his  name-father,  Jacopo  Bellini  having 
named  his  eldest  son  after  his  master)  Gentile  da  Fabri- 
ano — a  work  which  the  magnificent  Signoria  consider  his 
brother  Giovanni  may  well  be  deputed  to  finish  in  his 
place.  Nor  is  it  more  easy  to  discover  what  the  principle 
was  which  actuated  the  Signoria  in  selecting  for  the  deco- 
ration of  the  hall  that  special  historical  episode  which  is 
so  problematical,  and  of  which  even  Sanudo  says,  doubt- 
ing, that  "if  it  had  not  happened,  our  good  Venetians 
would  never  have  had  it  painted  " — a  somewhat  equivocal 
argument.  The  pertinacity  with  which  the  same  subjects 
were  repeated  three  times — first  by  the  earliest  masters, 
then  in  the  full  glory  of  art  by  all  the  best  of  the  Bellini 
generation  and  by  that  of  Titian;  and  at  last  in  the  decay 
of  that  glory,  after  the  great  fire,  by  the  Tizianellos  and 
Vecellini,  the  successors  of  the  great  painters  departed, 
whose  works  remain — is  very  curious.  Perhaps  some- 
thing, even  in  the  apocryphal  character  of  this  great 
climax  of  glory  and  magnificence  for  Venice,  may  have 
pleased  the  imagination  and  suggested  a  bolder  pictorial 
treatment,  with  something  of  allegorical  meaning,  which 
would  have  been  less  appropriate  to  matters  of  pure  fact 
and  well-authenticated  history.  And  no  doubt  the  people 
who  thronged  to  look  at  the  new  pictures  believed  it  all 
entirely,  if  not  the  great  gentlemen  in  their  crimson 
robes,  the  senators  and  councilors  who  selected  these 
scenes  as  the  most  glorious  that  could  be  thought  of  in 
the  history  of  the  city;  how  Venice  met  and  conquered 
the  naval  force  of  Barbarossa  and  made  her  own  terms 
with  him,  and  reconciled  the  two  greatest  potentates  of 
the  world,  the  Pope  and  the  emperor,  was  enough  to  fill 


THE    PAINTERS.  23! 

with  elation  even  the  great  republic.  And  the  authority 
of  fact  and  document  was  but  little  considered  in  those 
stormy  days. 

The  subject  on  which  Gentile  Bellini  was  at  work  when 
he  left  Venice  was  the  naval  combat  between  the  Doge 
Ziani  and  Prince  Otto,  son  of  Barbarossa,  which  ended 
in  the  completest  victory;  while  that  allotted  to  Giovanni 
Bellini  was  the  voyage  in  state  of  the  same  Doge  Ziani  to 
fetch  with  all  splendor  from  the  Carita  the  Pope  who  was 
there  in  hiding  under  a  guise  of  excessive  humility — as 
the  cook  of  that  convent.  At  that  period,  identified  thus 
by  his  brother's  departure,  Giovanni  Bellini  must  have 
been  over  fifty,  so  that  his  promotion  did  not  come  too 
soon.  It  is  not,  however,  till  a  much  later  period  that 
we  obtain  the  next  glimpse,  authentic  and  satisfactory,  of 
his  share  of  the  great  public  work,  in  which  there  were 
evidently  many  lapses  and  delays  for  which  the  painters 
were  to  blame,  as  well  as  weary  postponements  from  one 
official's  term  of  power  to  another.  Early  in  the  next 
century,  however,  in  1507,  in  some  pause  of  larger 
affairs,  the  council  seems  to  have  been  seized  with  a  sud- 
den movement  of  energy,  and  resolved  that  it  would  be 
no  small  ornament  to  their  hall  if  three  pictures  begun 
by  the  late  Alvise  Vivarini  could  be  finished,  along  with 
other  two,  one  of  which  was  not  even  begun,  "  so  that 
the  said  hall  might  be  completed  without  the  impediments 
which  have  hitherto  existed."  It  would  almost  seem  to 
be  the  pictures  confided  to  the  Bellini  which  were  in  this 
backward  condition,  for  the  Signoria  makes  an  appeal 
over  again  to  "  the  most  faithful  citizen,  our  Zuan  Bel- 
lini," to  bestir  himself.  But  the  negligent  painter  must 
by  this  time  have  been  eighty  or  more,  and  it  was  evi- 
dently necessary  that  he  should  have  help  in  so  great  an 
undertaking.  His  brother  had  died  that  year  a  very  old 
man,  and  a  younger  brotherhood  was  coming  to  light. 
And  here  we  find  what  seems  the  first  public  recognition 
of  another  name  which  is  closely  connected  with  those  of 
the  Bellini  in  our  minds,  and  to  which  recent  criticism  has 
allotted  even  a  higher  place  than  theirs.  The  noble  sena- 
tors or  councilors,  suddenly  coming  out  of  the  darkness 
for  this  object,  appear  to  us  for  a  moment  like  masters  of 
the  ceremonies  introducing  a  new  immortal.  "  Messer 
Vector,  called  Scarpazza,"  is  the  assistant  whom  they 


232  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

designate  for  old  Zuan  Bellini,  along  with  two  names  un- 
known to  fame,  "  Messer  Vector,  late  Mathio,"  and 
"Girolamo,  painter,"  no  doubt  a  novice  whose  reputation 
was  yet  to  win.  Carpaccio  was  to  have  five  ducats  a 
month  for  his  work;  the  other,  Messer  Vector,  four; 
Girolamo,  the  youth,  only  two — "and  the  same  are  to  be 
diligent  and  willing  in  aid  of  the  said  Ser  Zuan  Bellini  in 
painting  the  aforesaid  pictures,  so  that  as  diligently  and 
in  as  little  time  as  is  possible  they  may  be  completed." 
A  warning  note  is  added  in  Latin  (perhaps  to  make  it 
more  solemn  and  binding)  of  the  conditions  above  set 
forth — in  which  it  is  "  expressly  declared  "  that  the  little 
band  of  painters  bind  themselves  to  work  "continuously 
and  every  day  " — laborare  de  continuo  et  omni  die.  This 
betrays  an  inclination  on  the  part  of  the  painters  to  avoid 
the  public  work  which  it  is  amusing  to  see.  Let  us  hope 
the  Signoria  succeeded  in  getting  their  orders  respected; 
no  absences  to  finish  a  Madonna  or  St.  Ursula  which 
paid  better,  perhaps  both  in  fame  and  money;  no  return- 
ing to  the  public  service  when  private  commissions  failed; 
no  greater  price  for  what  may  be  called  piece-work,  for 
specially  noble  productions;  but  steady  labor  day  by  day 
at  four  or  five  ducats  a  month  as  might  be,  with  the 
pupil-journeyman  to  clean  the  palettes  and  run  the 
errands!  In  Venice,  as  in  other  places,  it  is  clear  that 
the  state  service  was  not  lucrative  for  art. 

Six  years  after  we  find  the  work  still  going  on,  and 
another  workman  is  added.  "  In  this  council  it  was  de- 
cided that  Tiziano,  painter  \_pytor\,  should  be  admitted  to 
work  in  the  hall  of  the  Great  Council  with  the  other 
painters,  without,  however,  any  salary,  except  the  agreed 
sum  which  has  usually  been  given  to  those  who  have 
painted  here,  who  are  Gentile  and  Zuan  Bellini  and  Vector 
Scarpazza.  This  Tiziano  to  be  the  same."  It  will  strike 
the  reader  with  a  certain  panic  to  see  with  what  indif- 
ference these  great  names  are  bandied  about  as  if  they 
were  the  names  of  a  set  of  decorators;  one  feels  an  awed 
desire  to  ask  their  pardon!  But  not  so  the  great  Ten, 
who  held  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  all  Venetians  in  their 
hands. 

About  the  date  when  old  Bellini  was  thus  conjured  to 
complete  or  superintend  the  completion  of  the  wanting 
pictures,  another  painter  from  a  very  different  region — 


THE   PAINTERS.  233 

from  a  landward  town  fortified  to  its  ears  and  full  of  all 
mediaeval  associations,  in  the  middle  of  Germany — came 
to  Venice.  The  high-peaked  roofs  and  picturesque  tur- 
rets of  Nuremburg  were  not  more  unlike  the  rich  and 
ample  facades  of  the  Venetian  palaces,  or  the  glow  and 
glory  of  Venetian  churches,  than  was  the  sober  life  of 
the  Teuton  unlike  the  gay  and  genial  existence  of  the 
Venetians.  Albert  Durer  found  himself  in  a  southern 
paradise.  He  gives  the  same  account  of  that  Venetian 
life  at  first  hand  as  Vasari  does  in  his  historical  retro- 
spect. He  finds  himself  among  a  crowd  of  pleasant 
companions;  players  on  the  lute,  so  accomplished  and 
sensitive  that  their  own  music  makes  them  weep;  and 
all,  great  and  small,  eager  to  see,  to  admire,  to  honor  the 
great  artist.  "  Oh,  how  I  shall  freeze  after  this  sunshine! 
Here  I  am  a  gentleman,  at  home  only  a  dependent,"  he 
cries;  elated,  yet  cast  down  by  the  difference,  and  to 
think  that  all  these  fine  Italian  lords  think  more  highly 
of  him  than  his  bourgeois  masters  in  Nuremburg.  San- 
bellini,  he  tells  his  friends,  has  come  to  see  him,  the 
venerable  old  man — very  old,  but  still  the  best  painter  of 
them  all,  and  a  good  man,  as  everybody  says:  and  from 
this  master  he  receives  the  sweetest  praise  and  a  com- 
mission to  paint  something  for  him  for  which  he  promises 
to  pay  well.  Old  Zuan  Bellini,  with  his  vivacious  Vene- 
tian ways,  and  the  solemn  German,  with  his  long  and 
serious  countenance,  like  a  prophet  in  the  desert — what 
a  contrast  they  must  have  made!  But  they  had  one  lan- 
guage between  them  at  least;  the  tongue  which  every 
true  artist  understands,  the  delightful  secret  freemasonry 
and  brotherhood  of  art. 

It  was  when  he  had  arrived  at  this  venerable  age,  over 
eighty,  but  still  coming  and  going  about  these  pictures  in 
the  great  hall,  and  alert  to  hear  of  and  visit  the  stranger 
from  Germany  who  brought  the  traditions  of  another 
school  to  Venice,  that  Bellini  painted  his  last  or  almost 
last  picture, — so  touching  in  its  appropriateness  to  his 
great  age  and  concluding  life, — the  old  "  St.  Jerome"  in  San 
Giovanni  Crisostomo,  seated  high  upon  a  solitary  mount 
with  a  couple  of  admiring  saints  below.  Perhaps  he  had 
begun  to  feel  that  old  age  needs  no  desert,  but  is  always 
solitary,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  pupils  and  followers. 
He  did  not  die  till  he  was  ninety.  It  was  the  fashion 


234  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

among  the  painters  of  Venice  to  live  to  old  age.  Among 
other  works  for  the  great  hall,  it  is  understood  that 
Bellini  painted  many  portraits  of  the  doges,  of  which  one 
remains,  familiar  to  us  all,  the  picture  now  in  our  National 
Gallery  of  that  wonderful  old  man  with  his  sunken 
eyes  of  age,  so  full  of  subtle  life  and  power.  History 
bears  no  very  strong  impression  of  the  character  of 
Leonardo  Loredano.  He  held  the  helm  of  state  bravely 
at  a  time  of  great  trial,  but  the  office  of  doge  by  this 
time  had  come  to  be  of  comparatively  small  importance 
to  the  constitution  of  Venice;  however,  of  all  the  potent 
doges  of  Venetian  chronicles,  he  alone  may  be  said  to 
live  forever.  With  all  these  thinkings,  astute  yet  humor- 
ous, which  are  recorded  in  his  eyes,  and  his  mouth 
scarcely  sure  whether  to  set  with  thin  lips  in  the  form  it 
took  to  pronounce  a  fatal  sentence,  or  to  soften  into  a 
smile,  this  dry  and  small,  yet  so  dignified  and  splendid 
old  man  remains  the  impersonation  of  that  mysterious 
and  secret  authority  of  the  republic  by  which,  alas!  the 
doges  suffered  more  than  they  enjoyed.  The  painter  is 
said  in  his  moments  perdus  to  have  painted  many  portraits — 
among  others  that  Imagine  celeste  shining  like  the  sun, 
which  made  Bembo,  though  a  cardinal,  burst  into  song: 

"  Credo  che  il  mio  Belli n  con  la  figura, 
T'habbia  dato  il  costume  anche  di  lei, 
Che  m'ardi  s'io  ti  mira,  e  pur  tu  sei, 
Freddo  smalto  a  cui  gionse  alta  ventura." 

In  the  meantime  the  elder  brother,  Gentile,  had  met 
with  adventures  more  remarkable.  In  the  year  1479,  as 
has  been  noted,  the  Signoria  commissioned  him  to  go 
to  Constantinople  at  the  request  of  the  sultan,  who  had 
begged  that  a  painter  might  be  sent  to  exhibit  his  powers, 
or — as  some  say — who  had  seen  a  picture  by  one  of  the 
Bellini  carried  thither  among  the  stores  of  some  Venetian 
merchant,  and  desired  to  see  how  such  a  wonderful  thing 
could  be  done.  This  is,  we  may  point  out  by  the  way,  a 
thing  well  worthy  of  remark  as  a  sign  of  the  wonderful 
changes  that  had  taken  place  in  the  East  without  seriously 
altering  the  long  habit  of  trade  and  the  natural  alliance, 
in  spite  of  all  interruptions,  between  buying  and  selling 
communities.  Even  within  these  simple  pages  we  have 
seen  the  Venetians  fighting  and  struggling,  making  a 


THE    PAINTERS.  235 

hundred  treaties,  negotiating  long  and  anxiously  for 
charters  and  privileges  from  the  Greek  empire  in  the 
capital  of  the  East;  then  helping  to  destroy  that  imperial 
house,  seizing  the  city,  setting  up  a  short-lived  Latin 
empire,  making  themselves  rich  with  the  spoils  of  Con- 
stantinople. And  now  both  these  races  and  dynasties  are 
swept  away,  and  the  infidel  has  got  possession  of  the  once 
splendid  Christian  city,  and  for  a  time  has  threatened 
all  Europe,  and  Venice  first  of  all.  But  the  moment  the 
war  is  stopped,  however  short  may  be  the  truce,  and  how- 
ever changed  the  circumstances,  trade  indomitable  has 
pushed  forward  with  its  cargoes,  sure  that  at  least  the 
Turk's  gold  is  as  good  as  the  Christian's,  and  his  carpets 
and  shawls  perhaps  better — who  knows?  There  is  nothing 
so  impartial  as  commerce,  so  long  as  money  is  to  be  made. 
Scutari  had  scarcely  ceased  to  smoke  when  Gentile  Bellini 
was  sent  to  please  the  Turk  and  prove  that  the  republic 
bore  no  malice.  One  can  imagine  that  the  painter  went, 
not  without  trepidation,  among  the  proud  and  hated 
invaders  who  had  thus  changed  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  grim  monarch  before  whom  Europe  trembled  received 
him  with  courtesy  and  favor,  and  Gentile  painted  his 
portrait,  and  that  of  his  queen — no  doubt  some  chosen 
member  of  the  harem  whom  the  Venetian  chose  to  rep- 
resent as  the  sharer  of  Mohammed's  throne. 

The  portrait  of  the  sultan,  formally  dated,  has  been 
brought  back  to  Venice,  after  four  hundred  years  and 
many  vicissitudes,  by  Sir  Henry  Layard.  It  represents 
no  murderous  Turk,  but  a  face  of  curious  refinement, 
almost  feeble,  though  full  of  the  impassive  calm  of  an 
unquestioned  despot.  The  Venetian,  as  the  story  goes, 
had  begun  to  be  at  his  ease,  cheered,  no  doubt,  by  the 
condescension  of  the  autocrat  before  whom  all  prostrated 
themselves,  but  who  showed  no  pride  to  the  painter,  and 
by  the  unanimous  marveling  surprise,  as  at  a  prodigy, 
of  all  beholders,  when  a  horrible  incident  occurred.  He 
would  seem  to  have  gone  on  painting  familiar  subjects, 
notwithstanding  the  inappropriateness  of  his  surround- 
ings, and  had  just  finished  the  story  of  John  the  Baptist 
"  who  was  reverenced  by  the  Turks  as  a  prophet."  But 
when  he  exhibited  the  head  of  the  Baptist  on  the  charger 
to  the  sultan,  that  potentate  began  to  criticise,  as  a  man 
who  at  last  finds  himself  on  familiar  ground.  He  told 


236  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  painter  that  his  anatomy  was  wrong,  and  that  when 
the  head  was  severed  from  the  body,  the  neck  dis- 
appeared altogether.  No  doubt  with  modesty,  but 
firmly,  the  painter  would  defend  his  work;  probably  for- 
getting that  the  sultan  had  in  this  particular  a  much 
greater  experience  than  he.  But  Mohammed  was  no 
man  to  waste  words.  He  called  a  slave  to  him  on  the 
spot,  and  whether  with  his  own  ready  sword  or  by  some 
other  hand,  swept  off  in  a  trice  the  poor  wretch's  head, 
that  the  painter  might  be  no  longer  in  any  doubt  as  to 
the  effect.  This  horrible  lesson  in  anatomy  was  more 
than  Gentile's  nerves  could  bear,  and  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  from  that  moment  he  never  ceased  his  efforts  to  get 
his  dismissal,  "not  knowing,"  says  Ridolfi,  "whether 
some  day  a  similar  jest  might  not  be  played  on  him." 
Finally  he  was  permitted  to  return  home  with  laudatory 
letters  and  the  title  of  Cavaliere,  and  a  chain  of  gold  of 
much  value  round  his  neck.  The  Venetian  authorities 
either  felt  that  a  man  who  had  risked  so  much  to  please 
the  sultan  and  keep  up  a  good  understanding  with  him 
was  worth  a  reward,  or  they  did  not  venture  to  neglect 
the  recommendation  of  so  great  a  potentate — for  they 
gave  the  painter  a  pension  of  two  hundred  ducats  a  year 
for  his  life.  And  he  was  in  time  to  resume  his  pencil  in 
the  great  hall  where  Ridolfi  gives  him  the  credit  of  five 
of  the  pictures,  painted  in  great  part  after  his  return. 
All  this  no  doubt  splendid  series  was  destroyed  a  hundred 
years  after  by  fire;  but,  as  has  been  already  noted,  the 
subjects  were  repeated  in  the  subsequent  pictures  which 
still  exist,  although  these,  with  the  exception  of  one  by 
Tintoretto  and  one  by  Paolo  Veronese,  were  executed  by 
less  remarkable  hands. 

Gentile  Bellini  died  in  1507,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  his 
brother  nearly  ten  years  after;  they  were  both  laid  with 
so  many  others  of  their  brotherhood  in  the  great  church 
of  San  Giovanni  e  Paolo,  where  the  traveler  may  see  their 
names  upon  the  pavement  in  all  humility  and  peace. 

The  nearest  to  these  two  brothers  in  the  meaning  and 
sentiment  of  his  work  is  Victor  Carpaccio.  His  place 
would  almost  seem  to  lie  justly  between  them.  He  is 
•J  the  first  illustrator  of  religious  life  and  legend  in  Venice, 
as  well  as  the  most  delightful  story-teller  of  his  time,  the 
finest  poet  in  a  city  not  given  to  audible  verse.  The 


THE    PAINTERS.  237 

extreme  devotion  which  Mr.  Ruskin  has  for  this  painter 
has  perhaps  raised  him  to  a  pedestal  which  is  slightly 
factitious — at  least,  so  far  as  the  crowd  is  concerned,  who 
follow  the  great  writer  without  comprehending  him,  and 
are  apt  to  make  the  worship  a  little  ridiculous.  But 
there  is  enough  in  the  noble  series  of  pictures  which  set 
forth  the  visionary  life  of  St.  Ursula  to  justify  a  great 
deal  of  enthusiasm.  No  more  lovely  picture  was  ever 
painted  than  that  which  represents  the  young  princess 
lying  wrapped  in  spotless  slumber,  seeing  in  her  dream 
the  saintly  life  before  her  and  the  companion  of  her 
career,  the  prince — half  knight,  half  angel— whose  image 
hovers  at  the  door.  The  wonderful  mediaeval  room  with 
all  its  slender,  antique  furniture;  the  soft  dawn  in  the 
window;  the  desk  where  the  maiden  has  said  her  prayers; 
the  holy  water  over  her  head,  form  a  dim,  harmonious 
background  of  silence  and  virgin  solitude.  And  what 
could  surpass  the  profound  and  holy  sleep,  so  complete,  so 
peaceful,  so  serene  in  which  she  lies,  lulled  by  the  solemn 
sweetness  of  her  vision,  in  which  there  is  no  unrest,  as  of 
earthly  love  always  full  of  disquiet,  but  a  soft  awe  and 
stillness  as  of  great  tragic  possibilities  foreseen?  The 
other  pictures  of  the  series  may  be  more  rich  in  incident 
and  expression,  and  have  a  higher  dramatic  interest,  but 
the  sleep  of  Ursula  is  exquisite  and  goes  to  every  heart. 
The  San  Giorgio  in  the  little  church  of  the  Slavs 
detaches  itself  in  a  similar  way  from  all  others,  and 
presents  to  the  imagination  a  companion  picture.  Ursula 
has  no  companion  in  her  own  story  that  is  so  worthy  of 
her  as  this  St.  George.  Her  prince  is  only  a  vision;  he 
is  absorbed  in  her  presence,  a  shadow,  whom  the  painter 
has  scarcely  taken  the  trouble  to  keep  of  one  type,  or 
recognizable  throughout  the  series.  But  the  San  Giorgio 
of  the  Schiavoni  remains  in  our  thoughts,  a  vision  of 
youthful  power  and  meaning,  worthy  to  be  that  maiden's 
mate.  No  sleep  for  him,  or  dreams.  He  puts  his  horse 
at  the  dragon  with  an  intent  and  stern  diligence  as  if 
there  were  (as  truly  there  was  not)  no  moment  to  lose, 
no  breath  to  draw,  till  his  mission  had  been  accomplished. 
A  swift  fierceness  and  determination  is  in  every  line  of 
of  him;  his  spear,  which  seems  at  first  on  the  wrong  side 
of  the  horse,  is  so  on  purpose  to  get  a  stronger  leverage 
in  the  tremend.ous  charge.  The  dragon  is  quite  a  poor 


238  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

creature  to  call  forth  all  that  force  of  righteous  passion; 
but  we  think  nothing  of  its  abject  meanness,  all  sympathy 
and  awe  being  concentrated  in  the  champion's  heavenly 
wrath  and  inspiration  of  purpose.  We  do  not  pretend  to 
follow  the  great  critic  who  has  thrown  all  his  own  tender 
yet  fiery  genius  into  the  elucidation  of  every  quip  and 
freak  of  fancy  in  this  elaborate  medieval  poem.  The 
low  and  half  lighted  walls  of  the  little  brown  church, 
which  bears  a  sort  of  homely  resemblance  to  an  English 
Little  Bethel,  enshrine  for  us  chiefly  this  one  heroic 
semblance,  and  no  more;  and  we  do  not  attempt  to  dis- 
cuss the  painting  from  any  professional  point  of  view. 
But  we  are  very  sure  that  this  knight  and  maiden,  though 
they  never  can  belong  to  each  other,  will  find  their 
places  in  every  sympathetic  soul  that  sees  them,  together — 
George  charging  down  in  abstract  holy  wrath  upon  the 
impersonation  of  sin  and  evil;  Ursula  dreaming  of  the 
great,  sad,  yet  fair  life  before  her — the  pilgrim's  journey, 
and  the  martyr's  palm. 

The  lives  of  the  saints  were  the  popular  poetry  of 
Christendom,  catholic  and  universal  beyond  all  folk-lore 
and  folks-lieder,  before  even  the  limits  of  existing  Con- 
tinental nations  were  formed.  All  the  elements  of 
romance,  as  well  as  that  ascetic  teaching  and  doctrine  of 
boundless  self-sacrifice  which  commends  itself  always  to 
the  primitive  mind  as  the  highest  type  of  religion,  were 
to  be  found  in  these  primitive  tales,  which  are  never  so 
happy  as  when  taking  the  youngest  and  fairest  and 
noblest  from  all  the  delights  of  life,  and  setting  them 
amid  the  mediaeval  horrors  of  plague  and  destitution. 
Carpaccio's  saints,  however,  belong  to  even  an  earlier 
variety  of  the  self-devoted,  the  first  heroes  of  humanity. 
It  is  for  the  faith  that  they  contend  and  die ;  they  are  the 
ideal  emissaries  of  a  divine  religion  but  newly  unveiled 
and  surrounded  by  a  dark  and  horrible  infidel  world  which 
is  to  be  converted  only  by  the  blood  of  the  martyrs;  or 
by  mysterious  forms  of  evil,  devouring  dragons  and  mon- 
sters of  foul  iniquity,  who  must  be  slain  or  led  captive 
by  the  spotless  warriors  in  whom  there  is  nothing  kindred 
to  their  rapacious  foulness.  Perhaps  it  is  because  of  the 
vicinity  of  Venice  to  the  East,  and  of  the  continual  con- 
flict with  the  infidel  which  Crusades  and  other  enterprises 
less  elevated  had  made  more  familiar  than  any  other 


THE    PAINTERS.  239 

enemy  to  the  imagination  of  the  city  of  the  sea,  that 
Carpaccio's  story-telling  is  all  of  this  complexion.  The 
German  painter  from  over  the  Alps  had  his  dreams  of 
sweet  Elizabeth,  with  the  loaves  in  her  lap  which  turned 
to  roses,  and  the  leper  whom  she  laid  in  the  prince's  bed, 
when  our  Venetian  conceived  his  Ursula  forewarned  of 
all  that  must  follow,  leaving  home  and  father  to  convert 
the  heathen;  or  that  strenuous,  grave  St.  George,  with 
stern,  fierce  eyes  aflame,  cutting  down  the  monster  who 
was  evil  embodied. 

These  were  the  earliest  of  all  heroic  tales  in  Christen- 
dom, and  Carpaccio's  art  was  that  of  the  minstrel-his- 
torian as  well  as  the  painter.  He  knew  how  to  choose 
his  incidents  and  construct  his  plot  like  any  story-teller, 
so  that  those,  if  there  were  any,  in  Venice,  who  did  not 
care  for  pictures,  might  still  be  caught  by  the  interest  of 
his  tale,  and  follow  breathless  the  fortunes  of  the  royal 
maiden,  or  that  great  episode  of  heroic  adventure  which 
has  made  so  many  nations  choose  St.  George  as  their 
patron  saint.  Gentile  Bellini  had  found  out  how  the 
aspect  of  real  life  and  all  its  accessories  might  be  turned 
to  use  in  art,  and  how  warm  was  the  interest  of  the  spec- 
tators in  the  representation  of  the  things  and  places 
with  which  they  were  most  familiar;  but  Carpaccio  made 
a  step  beyond  his  old  master  when  he  discovered  that 
art  was  able,  not  only  to  make  an  incident  immortal,  but 
to  tell  a  story,  and  draw  the  very  hearts  of  beholders  out 
of  their  bosoms,  as  sometimes  an  eloquent  friar  in  the 
pulpit,  or  story-teller  upon  the  Riva,  with  his  group  of 
entranced  listeners,  could  do.  And  having  made  this 
discovery,  though  it  was  already  the  time  of  the  Renais- 
sance and  all  the  uncleanly  gods  of  the  heathen,  with  all 
their  fables,  were  coming  back,  for  the  diversion  and 
delight  of  the  licentious  and  the  learned,  this  painter 
sternly  turned  his  back  upon  all  these  newfangled 
interests,  and  entranced  all  Venice — though  she  loved 
pleasure,  and  to  pipe  and  sing  and  wear  fine  dresses  and 
flaunt  in  the  sunshine — with  the  story  of  the  devoted 
princess  and  her  maiden  train,  and  with  St.  George,  all 
swift  and  fierce  in  youthful  wrath,  slaying  the  old  dragon, 
the  emblem  of  all  ill,  the  devouring  lust  and  cruelty 
whose  ravages  devastated  an  entire  kingdom  and  de- 
voured both  man  and  maid. 


240  THE    MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

But  of  the  man  who  did  this  we  know  nothing,  not 
even  where  he  was  born  or  where  he  died.  He  has  been 
said  to  belong  to  Istria  because  there  has  been  found 
there  a  family  of  Carpaccio,  among  whom,  from  time 
immemorial,  the  eldest  son  has  been  called  Victor  or 
Vettore;  but  that  this  is  the  painter's  family  is  a  matter 
of  pure  conjecture.  The  diligent  researches  of  Signer 
Molmenti,  who  has  done  so  much  to  elucidate  Venetian 
manners  and  life,  have  found  in  the  archives  of  a  neigh- 
ing state  a  letter,  perhaps  the  only  intelligible  trace  of 
Carpaccio  as  an  ordinary  mortal,  and  not  an  inspired 
painter,  which  is  in  existence.  It  affords  us  no  revela- 
tion of  high  meaning  or  purpose,  but  only  a  homely  view 
of  a  man  with  no  greater  pretensions  than  those  of  an 
honest  workman  living  on  his  earnings,  reluctant  to  lose 
a  commission  and  eager  to  recommend  himself  to  a 
liberal  and  well-paying  customer.  It  shows  him  upon 
no  elevation  of  poetic  meaning  such  as  we  might  have 
preferred  to  see;  but,  after  all,  even  in  heroic  days, 
there  was  nothing  contrary  to  inspiration  in  selling  your 
picture  and  commending  yourself  as  much  as  was  in  you, 
to  who  would  buy.  And  it  is  evident  that  Carpaccio  had 
much  confidence  in  the  excellence  of  the  work  he  had  to 
sell  and  felt  that  his  wares  were  second  to  none.  The 
letter  is  addressed  to  the  well-known  amateur  and  patron 
of  artists,  he  who  was  the  first  to  make  Titian's  fortune, 
Francesco  Gonzaga,  Lord  of  Mantua. 

ILLUSTRISSIMO  SIGNOR  Mio : 

Some  days  ago  a  person,  unknown  to  me,  conducted  by  certain  others, 
came  to  me  to  see  a  "  Jerusalem  "  which  I  have  made,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  seen  it,  with  great  pertinacity  insisted  that  I  should  sell  it  to  him, 
because  he  felt  it  to  be  a  thing  out  of  which  he  would  get  great  content 
and  satisfaction.  Finally  we  made  a  bargain  by  mutual  agreement,  but 
since  then  I  have  seen  no  more  of  him.  To  clear  up  the  matter  I  asked 
those  who  had  brought  him,  among  whom  was  a  priest,  bearded  and 
clad  in  gray,  whom  I  had  several  times  seen  in  the  hall  of  the  Great 
Council  with  your  highness  ;  of  whom  asking  his  name  and  condition 
I  was  told  that  he  was  Messer  Laurentio,  painter  to  your  illustrious 
highness — by  which  I  easily  understood  where  this  person  might  be 
found,  and  accordingly  I  direct  these  presents  to  your  illustrious  high- 
ness to  make  you  acquainted  with  my  name  as  well  as  with  the  work  in 
question.  First,  signer  mio,  I  am  that  painter  by  whom  your  illustrious 
highness  was  conducted  to  see  the  pictures  in  the  great  hall,  when  your 
illustrious  highness  deigned  to  ascend  the  scaffolding  to  see  our  work, 
which  was  the  story  of  Ancona,  and  my  name  is  Victor  Carpatio.  Con- 
cerning the  "  Jerusalem  "  I  take  upon  me  to  say  that  in  our  times  there  is 


THE   PAINTERS.  241 

not  another  picture  equal  to  it,  not  only  for  excellence  and  perfection, 
but  also  for  size.  The  height  of  the  picture  is  twenty-five  feet  and  t;he 
width  is  five  feet  and  a  half,  according  to  the  measure  of  such  things, 
and  I  know  that  of  this  work  Zuane  Zamberti  has  spoken  to  your  sub- 
limity. Also  it  is  true,  and  I  know  certainly,  that  the  aforesaid  painter, 
belonging  to  your  service,  has  carried  away  a  sketch  incomplete  and  of 
small  size  which  I  am  sure  will  not  be  to  your  highness'  satisfaction.  If 
it  should  please  your  highness  to  submit  the  picture  first  to  the  inspec- 
tion of  some  judicious  men,  on  a  word  of  guarantee  being  given  to  me 
it  shall  be  at  your  highness'  disposal.  The  work  is  in  distemper  on 
canvas,  and  it  can  be  rolled  round  a  piece  of  wood  without  any  detri- 
ment. If  it  should  please  you  to  desire  it  in  color,  it  rests  with  your 
illustrious  highness  to  command,  and  to  me  with  profoundest  study  to 
execute.  Of  the  price  I  say  nothing,  remitting  it  entirely  to  your  illus- 
trious highness,  to  whom  I  humbly  commend  myself  this  fifteenth  day  of 
August,  1511,  at  Venice.  Da  V.  Subl.  humilo.  Servitore, 

VICTOR  CARPATHIO,  Pictore. 

Whether  the  anxious  painter  got  the  commission,  or  if 
his  sublimity  of  Mantua  thought  the  humble  missive 
beneath  his  notice,  or  if  the  "Jerusalem"  was  ever  put 
into  color  cum  summo studio,  will  probably  never  be  known; 
but  here  he  appears  to  us  a  man  very  open  to  commissions, 
eager  for  work,  probably  finding  the  four  ducats  a  month 
of  the  Signoria  poor  pay,  and  losing  no  opportunity  of 
making  it  up.  But  though  the  painter  is  anxious  and 
conciliatory,  he  does  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  excel- 
lence of  his  work.  He  takes  upon  him  to  say  that  there 
is  no  better  picture  to  be  had  in  his  time,  and  gives  the 
measure  of  it  with  simplicity,  feeling  that  this  test  of 
greatness,  at  least,  must  be  within  his  correspondent's 
capacity.  And  one  cannot  but  remark,  with  a  smile, 
how  this  old  demi-god  of  art  in  the  heroic  age  was  ready 
to  forward  his  picture  to  the  purchaser  rolled  around 
a  piece  of  wood,  as  we  send  the  humble  photograph 
nowadays  by  the  post!  How  great  a  difference!  yet  with 
something  odd  and  touching  of  human  resemblance,  too. 

Of  the  great  painters  of  the  following  generation,  who 
raised  the  Venetian  school  to  the  height  of  glory,  almost 
all  who  were  born  subjects  of  the  republic  passed  through 
the  studio  of  the  Bellini.  The  historians  tell  us  how 
young  Giorgio  of  Castel  Franco  awoke  a  certain  despite 
in  the  breast  of  his  master  by  his  wonderful  progress 
and  divination  in  the  development  of  art — seizing  such 
secrets  as  were  yet  to  discover,  and  conjuring  away  a 
certain  primitive  rigidity  which  still  remained  in  the 
work  of  the  elders;  and  how  young  Tiziano,  from  his 


242  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

mountain  village,  entered  into  the  method  of  his  fellow- 
pupil,  and  both  together  carried  their  mystery  of  glorious 
color  and  easy,  splendid  composition  to  its  climax  in 
Venice.  But  the  feeling  and  criticism  of  the  present 
age,  so  largely  influenced  by  Mr.  Ruskin,  are  rather  dis- 
posed to  pass  that  grand  perfection  by,  and  return  with 
devotion  to  the  simple  splendor  of  those  three  early 
masters  who  are  nearer  to  the  fountain-head  and  retain 
a  more  absolute  reality  and  sincerity  in  their  work. 
Gentile  Bellini  painting  behind  and  around  his  miracle 
the  genuine  Venice  which  he  saw,  a  representation  more 
authentic  and  graphic  than  any  that  history  can  make; 
and  Carpaccio  giving  life  and  substance  to  the  legends 
which  embodied  literature  and  poetry  and  the  highest 
symbolical  morals  to  the  people — express  the  fact  of 
everyday  life  and  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine  of  a 
high  and  pure  imagination,  with  a  force  and  intensity 
which  are  not  in  their  more  highly  trained  and  conven- 
tionally perfect  successors.  And  as  for  the  third,  in 
some  respects  the  noblest  of  the  three — he  whose  genius 
sought  no  new  path,  who  is  content  with  the  divine  group 
which  his  homely  forefathers  had  drawn  and  daubed 
before  him,  but  which  it  was  his  to  set  forth  for  the  first 
time  in  Venice  in  all  the  luster  of  the  new  method  of 
color  which  he  and  his  successors  carried  to  such  glow 
and  splendor  that  all  that  is  most  brilliant  in  it  is  called 
Venetian — where  shall  we  find  a  more  lovely  image  of 
the  Mother  and  the  Child  than  that  which  he  sets  before 
us,  throned  in  grave  seclusion  in  the  Frari,  humbly 
retired  behind  that  window  in  the  Accademia,  shining 
forth  over  so  many  altars  in  other  places,  in  a  noble  and 
modest  perfection?  The  angel  children  sounding  their 
simple  lutes,  looking  up  with  frank  and  simple  childish 
reverence,  all  sweet  and  human,  to  the  miraculous  Child, 
have  something  in  them  which  is  as  much  beyond  the 
conventional  cherubic  heads  and  artificial,  ornamented 
angels  of  the  later  art  as  heaven  is  beyond  earth,  or  the 
true  tenderness  of  imagination  beyond  the  fantastic 
inventions  of  fiction.  And  if  Raphael  in  our  days  must 
give  way  to  Botticelli,  with  how  much  greater  reason 
should  Titian  in  the  height  of  art,  all  earthly  splendor 
and  voluptuous  glow,  give  place  to  the  lovely  imagina- 
tions of  old  Zuan  Bellini,  the  father  of  Venetian  art! 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   SECOND    GENERATION. 

THE  day  of  art  had  now  fully  risen  in  Venice.  The 
dawning  had  been  long;  progressing  slowly,  through  all 
the  early  efforts  of  decoration  and  ornament,  and  by  the 
dim,  religious  light  of  nameless  masters,  to  the  great 
moment  in  which  the  Bellini  revealed  themselves,  making 
Venice  splendid  with  the  sunrise  of  a  new  faculty,  en- 
tirely congenial  to  her  temperament  and  desires.  It 
would  almost  appear  as  if  the  first  note,  once  struck,  of  a 
new  departure  in  life  or  in  art,  was  enough  to  wake  up  in 
all  the  regions  within  hearing  the  predestined  workers, 
who,  but  for  that  awaking,  might  have  slumbered  forever, 
or  found  in  other  fields  an  incomplete  development. 
While  it  is  beyond  the  range  of  human  powers  to  deter- 
mine what  cause  or  agency  it  is  which  enables  the  first 
fine  genius — the  Maker,  who  in  every  mode  of  creative 
work  is  like  the  great  priest  of  the  Old  Testament,  with- 
out father  and  without  mother — to  burst  all  bonds  and 
outstep  all  barriers,  it  is  comparatively  easy  to  trace 
how,  under  his  influence  and  by  the  stimulus  of  a  sudden 
new  impulse  felt  to  be  almost  divine,  his  successors  may 
spring  into  light  and  being.  Nothing,  to  our  humble 
thinking,  explains  the  Bellini;  but  the  Bellini  to  a  certain 
extent  explain  Titian  and  all  the  other  splendors  to 
come. 

When  the  thrill  of  the  new  beginning  had  gone  through 
all  the  air,  mounting  up  among  the  glorious  peaks  and 
snows,  to  Cadore  on  one  side,  and  over  the  salt-water 
country  and  marshy  plains  on  the  other  to  Castel  Franco, 
two  humble  families  had  each  received  the  uncertain 
blessing  of  a  boy,  who  took  to  none  of  the  established 
modes  of  living,  and  would  turn  his  thoughts  neither  to 
husbandry  nor  to  such  genteel  trades  as  became  the 
members  of  a  family  of  peasant  nobility,  but  dreamed  and 
drew,  with  whatsoever  material  came  to  their  hands,  upon 
walls  or  other  handy  places.  At  another  epoch  it  is 

«43 


244  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

likely  enough  that  parental  force  would  have  been  em- 
ployed to  balk,  for  a  time  at  least,  these  indications  of 
youthful  genius;  but  no  doubt  some  of  the  Vecelli 
family,  the  lawyer  uncle  or  the  soldier  father,  had  some 
time  descended  from  his  hilltop  to  the  great  city  which 
lay  gleaming  upon  the  edge  of  those  great  plains  of  sea 
that  wash  the  feet  of  the  mountains,  and  had  seen  some 
wonderful  work  in  church  or  senate  chamber,  which  made 
known  a  new  possibility  to  him,  and  justified  in  some 
sort  the  attempts  of  the  eager  child.  More  certainly  still 
a  villager  from  the  Trevisano,  carrying  his  rural  mer- 
chandise to  market,  would  be  led  by  some  gossip  in  the 
Erberia  to  see  the  new  Madonna  in  San  Giobbe,  and  ask 
himself  whether  by  any  chance  little  Giorgio,  always 
with  that  bit  of  chalk  in  his  fingers,  might  come  to  do 
such  a  wonder  as  that  if  the  boy  had  justice  done  him? 
They  came  accordingly,  with  beating  hearts,  the  two  little 
rustics,  each  from  his  village,  to  Zuan  Bellini's  bottega  in 
the  Rialto  to  learn  their  art.  The  mountain  boy  was  but 
ten  years  old — confided  to  the  care  of  an  uncle  who  lived 
in  Venice;  but  whether  he  went  at  once  into  the  head- 
quarters of  the  art  is  unknown,  and  unlikely,  for  so  young 
a  student  could  scarcely  have  been  far  enough  advanced 
to  profit  by  the  instructions  of  the  greatest  painter  in 
Venice.  It  is  supposed  by  some  that  he  began  his 
studies  under  Zuccato,  the  mosaicist,  or  some  humbler 
instructor.  But  all  this  would  seem  mere  conjecture. 
Vasari,  his  contemporary  and  friend,  makes  no  mention 
of  any  preliminary  studies,  but  places  the  boy  at  once 
under  Giovanni  Bellini.  Of  the  young  Barbarella  from 
Castel  Franco  the  same  story  is  told.  He,  too,  was 
brought  to  Venice  by  his  father  and  placed  under  Bellini's 
instruction.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  have  con- 
fused these  bare  but  simple  records  with  theories  of  their 
own  respecting  the  influence  of  Giorgione  upon  Titian, 
which  is  such,  they  think,  or  thought,  as  could  only  have 
been  attained  by  an  elder  over  a  younger  companion, 
whereas  all  the  evidence  goes  to  prove  that  the  two  were 
as  nearly  as  possible  the  same  age,  and  that  they  were 
fellow-pupils,  perhaps  fellow-apprentices,  in  Bellini's 
workshop.  We  may,  however,  find  so  much  reason  for 
the  theory  as  this,  that  young  Tiziano  was  in  his  youth 
a  steady  and  patient  worker,  following  all  the  rules  and 


THE    PAINTERS.  245 

discipline  of  his  master,  and  taking  into  his  capacious 
brain  everything  that  could  be  taught  him,  awaiting  the 
moment  when  he  should  turn  these  stores  of  instruction 
to  use  in  his  own  individual  way;  whereas  young  Giorgio 
was  more  masterful  and  impatient,  and  with  a  quicker 
eye  and  insight  (having  so  much  less  time  to  do  his  work 
in)  seized  upon  those  points  in  which  his  genius  could 
have  full  play.  Vasari  talks  as  if  this  brilliant  youth,  with 
all  the  fire  of  purpose  in  his  eyes,  had  blazed  all  of  a 
sudden  upon  the  workshop  in  which  Bellini's  pupils 
labored — Titian  among  them,  containing  what  new  lights 
were  in  him  in  dutiful  subordination  to  the  spirit  of  the 
place — "about  the  year  1507,"  with  a  new  gospel  of 
color  and  brightness  scattering  the  clouds  from  the  fir- 
mament. Ridolfi,  on  the  other  hand,  describes  him  as  a 
pupil  whom  the  master  looked  upon  with  a  little  jealousy, 
"seeing  the  felicity  with  which  all  things  were  made 
clear  by  this  scholar.  And  certainly,"  adds  the  critic  in 
his  involved  and  ponderous  phraseology,  "it  was  a 
wonder  to  see  how  this  boy  added  to  the  method  of 
Bellini  (in  whom  all  the  beauties  of  painting  had  seemed 
conjoined)  such  grace  and  tenderness  of  color,  as  if 
Giorgione,  participating  in  that  power  by  which  Nature 
mixes  human  flesh  with  all  the  qualities  of  the  elements, 
harmonized  with  supreme  sweetness  the  shadow  and  the 
light,  and  threw  a  delicate  flush  of  rose  tints  upon  every 
member  through  which  the  blood  flows." 

Giorgione,  with  his  bolder  impulse  and  that  haste 
which  we  perceive,  to  have  been  so  needful  for  his  short 
life,  is  more  apparent  than  his  fellow-student  in  these 
early  years.  When  he  came  out  of  Bellini's  workshop, 
his  apprenticeship  done,  he  roamed  a  little  from  bottega 
to  bottega;  painting  now  a  sacred  picture  for  an  oratory 
or  chapel,  now  a  marriage  chest  or  cabinet.  "  Quadri 
di  devotione,  ricinti  da  letto,  e  gabinetti"  says  Ridolfi — 
not  ashamed  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything  there  might  be 
to  do.  Going  home  afterward  to  his  village,  he  was 
received,  the  same  authority  informs  us,  with  enthusi- 
asm, as  having  made  himself  a  great  man  and  a  painter, 
and  commissions  showered  upon  him.  Perhaps  it  was  at 
Castel  Franco,  amid  the  delight  and  praise  of  his  friends, 
that  the  young  painter  first  recognized  fully  his  own 
powers.  At  all  events,  when  he  had  exhausted  their 


246  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

simple  applauses  and  filled  the  village  church  and  con- 
vent with  his  work,  he  went  back  to  Venice,  evidently 
with  a  soul  above  the  ricinti  da  letto,  and  launched  himself 
upon  the  world.  His  purse  was,  no  doubt,  replenished 
by  the  work  he  had  done  at  home;  a  number  of  the 
wealthy  neighbors  having  had  themselves  painted  by 
little  Giorgio — an  opportunity  they  must  have  perceived 
that  might  not  soon  recur.  But  it  was  not  only  for 
work  and  fame  that  he  returned  to  Venice.  He  was 
young,  and  life  was  sweet — sweeter  there  than  anywhere 
else  in  all  the  world;  full  of  everything  that  was  beauti- 
ful and  bright.  He  took  a  house  in  the  Campo  San 
Silvestro,  opposite  the  church  of  that  name,  not  far  from 
the  Rialto,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  joyous  companions  of 
his  craft;  and  "by  his  talent  and  his  pleasant  nature," 
drawing  round  him  a  multitude  of  friends,  lived  there 
amid  all  the  delights  of  youth, — dilettandosi  suonar  il 
liuto, — dividing  his  days  between  the  arts.  No  gayer  life 
nor  one  more  full  of  pleasure  could  be;  his  very  work  a 
delight,  a  continual  crowd  of  comrades,  admiring,  imitat- 
ing, urging  him  on,  always  round  him,  every  man  with 
his  canzone  and  his  picture ;  and  all  ready  to  fling  them 
down  at  a  moment's  notice,  and  rush  forth  to  swell  the 
harmonies  on  the  canal,  or  steal  out  upon  the  lagoon  in 
the  retirement  of  the  gondola,  upon  some  more  secret 
adventure.  What  hush  there  would  be  of  all  the  laugh- 
ing commentaries  when  a  fine  patrician  in  his  sweeping 
robes  was  seen  approaching  across  the  campo,  a  possible 
patron;  what  a  rush  to  the  windows  when,  conscious  per- 
haps of  all  the  eyes  upon  her,  but  without  lifting  her  own, 
some  lovely  Madonna  wrapped  in  her  veil,  with  her  fol- 
lowing of  maidens,  would  come  in  a  glory  of  silken  robes 
and  jewels  out  of  the  church  door !  "  Per  certo  suo 
decoroso  aspetto  si  detto  Giorgione,"  says  Ridolfi,  but 
perhaps  the  word  decoroso  would  be  out  of  place  in  our 
sense  of  it — for  his  delightsome  presence  rather  and  his 
pleasant  ways.  The  Italian  tongue  still  lends  itself  to 
such  caresses,  and  is  capable  of  making  the  dear  George, 
the  delightful  fellow,  the  beloved  of  all  his  companions, 
into  Giorgione  still. 

And  amid  all  this  babble  of  lutes  and  laughter,  and  all 
the  glow  of  color  and  flush  of  youth,  the  other  lad  from 
the  mountains  would  come  and  go,  no  less  gay  perhaps 


THE   PAINTERS.  247 

than  any  of  them,  but  working  on,  with  that  steady 
power  of  his,  gathering  to  himself  slowly  but  with  an 
unerring  instinct  the  new  principles  which  his  comrade, 
all  impetuous  and  spontaneous,  made  known  in  practice 
rather  than  in  teaching,  making  the  blood  flow  and  the 
pulses  beat  in  every  limb  he  drew.  Young  Tiziano  had 
plodded  through  the  Bellini  system  without  making  any 
rebellious  outbreak  of  new  ideas  as  Giorgione  had  done; 
taking  the  good  of  his  master,  so  far  as  that  master 
went,  but  with  his  eyes  open  to  every  suggestion,  and 
very  ready  to  see  that  his  comrade  had  expanded  the 
old  rule,  and  done  something  worth  adopting  and  follow- 
ing in  this  joyful,  splendid  outburst  of  his.  It  was  in  this 
way,  no  doubt,  that  the  one  youth  followed  the  other, 
half  by  instinct,  by  mingled  sympathy  and  rivalry,  by  the 
natural  contagion  of  a  development  more  advanced  than 
that  which  had  been  the  starting  point  of  both — confus- 
ing his  late  critics  after  some  centuries  into  an  attempt 
to  prove  that  the  one  must  have  taught  the  other,  which 
was  not  necessary  in  any  formal  way.  Titian  had  ninety 
years  to  live,  and  Nature  worked  in  him  at  leisure,  while 
Giorgione  had  but  a  third  of  that  time,  and  went  fast; 
flinging  about  what  genius  and  power  of  instruction  there 
were  in  him  with  careless  liberality;  not  thinking  whether 
from  any  friendly  comrade  about  him  he  received  less 
than  he  gave.  Perhaps  the  same  unconscious  hurry  of 
life,  perhaps  only  his  more  impetuous  temper,  induced 
him,  when  work  flagged  and  commissions  were  slow  of 
coming  in,  to  turn  his  hand  to  the  front  of  his  own  house 
and  paint  that,  in  default  of  more  profitable  work.  It 
was,  no  doubt,  the  best  of  advertisements  for  the  young 
painter.  On  the  higher  story,  in  which  most  probably  he 
lived,  he  covered  the  walls  with  figures  of  musicians  and 
poets  with  their  lutes,  and  with  groups  of  boys,  the/«/// 
so  dear  to  Venice,  as  well  as  altre  fantasie,  and  historic 
scenes  of  more  pretension  which  were  the  subject  of  "a 
learned  eulogy  by  Signor  Jacopo  Pighetti,  and  a  cele- 
brated poem  by  Signor  Paolo  Vendramin,"  says  Ridolfi. 
The  literary  tributes  have  perished,  and  so  have  the 
frescoes,  although  the  spectator  may  still  see  some  faded 
traces  of  Giorgione's  putti  upon  the  walls  of  his  house; 
but  they  answered  what,  no  doubt,  was  at  least  one  of  their 
purposes  by  attracting  the  attention  of  the  watchful  city, 


248  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

ever  ready  to  see  what  beautiful  work  was  being  done. 
It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  Fondaco  de'  Tedeschi, 
the  German  factory,  so  to  speak,  on  the  edge  of  the  Grand 
Canal,  was  rebuilding;  a  great  house  wanting  decoration. 
The  jealous  authorities  of  the  republic,  for  some  reason 
one  fails  to  see,  had  forbidden  the  use  of  architectural 
ornamentation  in  the  new  building,  which,  all  the  same, 
was  their  own  building,  not  the  property  of  the  Germans. 
Had  it  belonged  to  the  foreigner  there  might  have  been 
a  supposable  cause  in  the  necessity  for  keeping  these 
aliens  down,  and  preventing  any  possible  emulation  with 
native  born  Venetians.  We  can  only  suppose  that  this, 
was  actually  the  reason,  and  that,  even  in  the  house 
which  Venice  built  for  them,  these  traders  were  not  to- 
be  permitted  to  look  as  fine  or  feel  as  magnificent  as 
their  hosts  and  superiors.  But  a  great  house  with  four 
vast  walls,  capable  of  endless  decoration,  and  nothing 
done  to  them,  would  probably  have  raised  a  rebellion  in 
the  city,  or  at  least  among  the  swarms  of  painters  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Rialto,  gazing  at  it  with  hungry 
eyes.  So  it  was  conceded  by  the  authorities  that  this 
square,  undecorated  house — a  singularly  uninteresting 
block  of  buildings  to  stand  on  such  a  site — should  be 
painted  at  least  to  harmonize  it  so  far  with  its  neighbors. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  this  was  the  first  piece  of 
work  on  which  Titian  had  been  engaged.  No  doubt  he 
had  already  produced  his  tale  of  Madonnas,  with  a  few 
portraits,  to  make  him  known.  But  he  steps  into  sight 
for  the  first  time  publicly  when  we  hear  that  the  wall  on 
the  land  side,  the  street  front,  was  allotted  to  him,  while  the 
side  toward  the  canal  was  confided  to  Giorgione.  Per- 
haps the  whole  building  was  put  into  Giorgione's  hands, 
and  part  of  the  work  confided  by  him  to  his  comrade; 
at  all  events  they  divided  it  between  them.  Every  visitor 
to  Venice  is  aware  of  the  faint  and  faded  figure  high  up 
in  the  right-hand  corner,  disappearing,  as  all  its  neigh- 
boring glories  have  disappeared,  which  is  the  last  remnant 
of  Giorgione's  work  upon  the  canal  front  of  this  great, 
gloomy  house.  Of  Titian's  group  over  the  great  door- 
way in  the  street  there  remains  nothing  at  all;  the  sea 
breezes  and  the  keen  air  have  carried  all  these  beautiful 
things  away. 

In  respect  to  these  frescoes,  Vasari  tells  one  anecdote 


THE    PAINTERS.  249 

which  is  natural  and  characteristic,  and  may  indicate  the 
point  at  which  these  two  young  men  detached  themselves, 
and  took  each  his  separate  way.  He  narrates  how  "many 
gentlemen,"  not  being  aware  of  the  division  of  labor,  met 
Giorgione  on  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  Titian  had 
uncovered  a  portion  of  his  work,  and  crowded  round  him 
with  their  congratulations,  assuring  him  that  he  had 
never  done  anything  so  fine,  and  that  the  front  toward 
the  Merceria  quite  excelled  the  river  front!  Giorgione 
was  so  indignant,  sentiva  tanto  sdegno,  at  this  unlucky 
compliment  that,  until  Titian  had  finished  the  work  and 
it  had  become  well  known  which  portion  of  it  was  his,  the 
sensitive  painter  showed  himself  no  more  in  public,  and 
from  that  moment  would  neither  see  Titian  nor  acknowl- 
edge him  as  a  friend.  Ridolfi  tells  the  same  story,  with 
the  addition  that  it  was  a  conscious  mistake  made  mali- 
ciously by  certain  comrades,  who  feigned  not  to  know 
who  had  painted  the  great  "  Judith  "  over  the  door. 

This  is  not  a  history  of  the  Venetian  painters,  nor  is  it 
necessary  to  follow  the  life  and  labors  of  these  two  bril- 
liant and  splendid  successors  of  the  first  masters  in  our 
city.  Whether  it  was  by  the  distinct  initiative  of  Gior- 
gione in  painting  his  own  house  that  the  habit  of  painting 
Venetian  houses  in  general  originated,  or  whether  it  was 
only  one  of  the  ever  increasing  marks  of  luxury  and  dis- 
play, we  do  not  pretend  to  decide.  At  all  events  it  was 
an  expedient  of  this  generation  to  add  to  the  glory  of  the 
city  and  the  splendid  aspect  which  she  bore.  The 
nobler  dignity  of  the  ancient  architecture  had  already 
been  partially  lost,  or  no  longer  pleased  in  its  gravity  and 
stateliness  the  race  which  loved  color  and  splendor  in  all 
things.  A  whole  city  glowing  in  crimson  and  gold,  with 
giant  forms  starting  up  along  every  wall,  and  sweet 
groups  of  cherub  boys  tracing  every  course  of  stone,  and 
the  fables  of  Greece  and  Rome  taking  form  upon  every 
facade,  must  have  been,  no  doubt,  a  wonderful  sight.  The 
reflections  in  the  Grand  Canal,  as  it  flowed  between  these 
pictured  palaces,  must  have  left  little  room  for  sky  or 
atmosphere  in  the  midst  of  that  dazzling  confusion  of 
brilliant  tints  and  images.  And  every  campo  must  have 
lent  its  blaze  of  color,  to  put  the  sun  himself  to  shame. 
But  we  wonder  whether  it  is  to  be  much  regretted  that 
the  sun  and  the  winds  have  triumphed  in  the  end  and 


250  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

had  their  will  of  those  fine  Venetian  houses.  Among  so 
many  losses  this  is  the  one  for  which  I  feel  the  least 
regret. 

It  is  recorded  among  the  expenses  of  the  republic  in 
December,  1508,  that  150  ducats  were  paid  to  Zorzi  da 
Castel  Franco  for  his  work  upon  the  Fondaco,  in  which, 
according  to  this  businesslike  record,  Victor  Carpaccio 
had  also  some  share;  but  this  is  the  only  indication  of 
the  fact,  and  the  total  disappearance  of  the  work  makes 
all  other  inquiry  impossible. 

By  this  time,  however,  Giorgione's  brief  and  gay  life 
was  approaching  its  end.  That  stormy,  joyous  existence, 
so  full  of  work,  so  full  of  pleasure,  as  warm  in  color  as 
were  his  pictures,  and  pushed  to  a  hasty  perfection, 
all  at  once,  without  the  modesty  of  any  slow  beginning, 
ended  suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  Vasari  has  unkindly 
attributed  his  early  death  to  the  disorders  of  his  life; 
but  his  other  biographers  are  more  sympathetic.  Ridolfi 
gives  two  different  accounts,  both  popularly  current; 
one  that  he  caught  the  plague  from  a  lady  he  loved;  the 
other,  that  being  deserted  by  his  love  he  died  of  grief, 
non  trovando  altro  remedio.  In  either  case  the  impetuous 
young  painter,  amid  his  early  successes, — more  celebrated 
than  any  of  his  compeers,  the  leader  among  his  comrades, 
the  only  one  of  them  who  had  struck  into  an  individual 
path,  developing  the  lessons  of  Bellini, — died  in  the 
midst  of  his  loves  and  pleasures  at  the  age  of  thirty-four, 
not  having  yet  reached  the  mezzo  del  cammin  di  nostra 
•vita,  which  Dante  had  attained  when  his  great  work 
began. 

This  was  in  the  year  1511,  only  three  years  after  the 
completion  of  his  work  at  the  Fondaco,  and  while  old 
Zuan  Bellini  was  still  alive  and  at  work,  in  his  robust  old 
age,  seeing  his  impetuous  pupil  out.  It  was  one  of  the 
many  years  in  which  the  plague  visited  Venice,  carrying 
consternation  through  the  gay  and  glowing  streets.  It 
is  said  that  Giorgione  was  working  in  the  hall  of  the 
Great  Council,  among  the  other  painters,  at  the  picture 
in  which  the  emperor  is  represented  as  kissing  the  Pope's 
foot,  at  the  time  of  his  death.  At  all  events  he  had  lived 
long  enough  to  make  his  fame  great  in  the  city,  and  to 
leave  examples  of  his  splendid  work  in  many  of  the  other 
great  cities  of  Italy,  as  well  as  in  his  own  little  borgo  at 


THE    PAINTERS.  251 

Castel  Franco,  where  still  they  are  the  pride  and  glory  of 
the  little  town. 

It  would  almost  seem  as  if  it  were  only  after  the  death 
of  Giorgione  that  Titian  began  to  be  estimated  at  his  just 
value.  The  one  had  given  the  impulse,  the  other  had 
received  it,  and  Vasari  does  not  hesitate  to  call  Titian 
the  pupil  of  his  contemporary,  though  not  in  the  formal 
sense  attached  to  the  word  by  modern  writers,  notwith- 
standing the  fact  that  they  were  of  the  same  age. 
Ridolfi's  formal  yet  warm  enthusiasm  for  the  painter 
"to  whom  belong  perpetual  praise  and  honor,  since  he 
has  become  a  light  to  all  those  who  come  after  him," 
assigns  to  Giorgione  a  higher  place  than  that  which  the 
spectator  of  to-day  will  probably  think  justified.  His 
master,  Bellini,  appeals  more  warmly  to  the  heart;  his 
pupil,  Titian,  filled  a  much  greater  place  in  the  world 
and  in  art.  But  "it  is  certain,"  says  the  historian  and 
critic  of  the  sixteenth  century,  with  a  double  affirmation, 
"  that  Giorgio  was  without  doubt  the  first  who  showed 
the  good  way  in  painting,  fitting  himself  \approssi-man- 
dost\  by  the  mixture  of  his  colors  to  express  with  facility 
the  works  of  nature,  concealing  as  much  as  possible  the 
difficulties  to  be  encountered  in  working,  which  is  the 
chief  point;  so  that  in  the  flesh  tints  of  this  ingenious 
painter  the  innumerable  shades  of  gray,  orange,  blue,  and 
other  such  colors,  customarily  used  by  some,  are  ab- 
sent. .  .  The  artificers  who  followed  him,  with  the  ex- 
ample before  them  of  his  works,  acquired  the  facility  and 
true  method  of  color  by  which  so  much  progress  was  made." 

The  works  of  Giorgione,  however,  are  comparatively 
few;  his  short  life,  and  perhaps  the  mirth  of  it,  the 
sounding  of  the  lute,  the  joyous  company,  and  all  the  de- 
lights of  that  highly  colored  existence  restrained  the 
splendid  productiveness  which  was  characteristic  of  his 
art  and  age.  And  yet  perhaps  this  suggestion  does  the 
painter  injustice;  for  amid  all  those  diversions,  and  the 
ceaseless  round  of  loves  and  festivities,  the  list  of  work 
done  is  always  astonishing.  Many  of  his  works,  however, 
were  frescoes,  and  the  period  in  which  he  and  Titian 
were,  as  Mr.  Ruskin  says,  house-painters,  was  the  height 
of  his  genius.  The  sea  air  and  the  keen  tramontana  have 
thus  swept  away  much  that  was  the  glory  of  the  young 
painter's  life. 


252  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

The  moment  at  which  Titian  appears  publicly  on  the 
stage,  so  to  speak,  of  the  great  hall,  called  to  aid  in 
the  work  going  on  there,  was  not  till  two  years  after  the 
death  of  his  companion.  Whether  Giorgione  kept  his 
hasty  word  and  saw  no  more  of  him  after  that  unfortu- 
nate compliment  about  the  "  Judith  "  over  the  doorway  of 
the  Fondaco  we  are  not  told;  but  it  was  not  until  after 
the  shadow  of  that  impetuous,  youthful  genius  had  been 
removed  that  the  other,  the  patient  and  thoughtful,  who 
had  not  reached  perfection  in  a  burst,  but  by  much 
consideration  and  comparison  and  exercise  of  the  splen- 
did faculty  of  work  that  was  in  him,  came  fully  into  the 
light.  Messrs.  Crowe  and  Cavalcaselle  make  much  of 
certain  disputes  and  intrigues  that  seem  to  have  sur- 
rounded this  appointment,  and  point  out  that  it  was 
given  and  withdrawn,  and  again  conferred  upon  Titian, 
according  as  his  friends  or  those  of  the  older  painters 
were  in  the  ascendant  in  the  often  changed  combinations 
of  power  in  Venice.  Their  attempts  to  show  that  old 
Zuan  Bellini,  the  patriarch  of  the  art,  schemed  against 
his  younger  rival,  and  endeavored  to  keep  him  out  of 
state  patronage  are  happily  supported  by  no  documents, 
but  are  merely  an  inference  from  the  course  of  events, 
which  show  certain  waverings  and  uncertainties  in  the 
bargain  between  the  Signoria  and  the  painter.  The 
manner  in  which  this  bargain  was  made,  and  in  which  the 
money  was  provided  to  pay  for  the  work  of  Titian  and 
his  associates,  is  very  characteristic  and  noticeable. 
After  much  uncertainty  as  to  what  were  the  intentions 
of  the  Signoria,  the  painter  received  an  invitation  to  go 
to  Rome  through  Pietro  Bembo,  which,  however  bona  fide 
in  itself,  was  probably  intended  to  bring  matters  to  a 
crisis,  and  show  the  authorities,  who  had  not  as  yet 
secured  the  services  of  the  most  promising  of  all  of  the 
younger  artists  then  left  in  Venice,  that  their  decision 
must  be  made  at  once.  Titian  brings  the  question 
before  them  with  much  firmness — will  they  have  him  or 
not?  must  he  turn  aside  to  the  service  of  the  Pope 
instead  of  entering  that  of  the  magnificent  Signoria, 
which,  "desirous  of  fame  rather  than  of  profit,"  he 
would  prefer?  Pressing  for  a  decision,  he  then  sets 
forth  the  pay  and  position  for  which  he  is  willing  to 
devote  his  powers  to  the  public  service.  These  are: 


THE    PAINTERS.  253 

The  first  brokership  that  shall  be  vacant  in  the  Fondaco 
de'  Tedeschi,  "  irrespective  of  all  promised  reversions  of 
such  patent,"  and  the  maintenance  of  two  pupils  as  his 
assistants,  to  be  paid  by  the  salt  office,  which  also  is  to 
provide  all  colors  and  necessaries  required  in  their  work. 
The   curious   complication   of   state   affairs   which  thus 
mixes  up  the  most  uncongenial  branches,  and  defrays  the 
expenses  of  this,  the  supremest  luxury  of  the  state,  out 
of  the  tarry  purse  of  its  oldest  and  rudest  industry,  is 
very  remarkable;  and    the   bargain    has   a   certain    sur- 
reptitious air,   as  if  even  the  magnificent  Signoria  did 
not  care  to  confess  how  much  their  splendors  cost.     If 
our  own  government,  ashamed  to  put  into  their  straight- 
forward  budget  the  many  thousands  expended   on  the 
purchase  of  the  Blenheim  "Madonna,"  had  added  it  in 
with  the  accounts  of  the  inland  revenue,  it  would  be  an 
operation   somewhat  similar.     But  such  balancings  and 
mutual  compensations,  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul,  were 
common   in   those  days.     The   brokership,   however,    is 
about  as  curious  an  expedient  for  the  pay  of  a  painter  as 
could  be  devised.     The   German   merchants   were  for- 
bidden to  trade  without  the  assistance  of  such  an  official, 
and  the  painter  of  course  fulfilled  the  duties  of  the  office 
by  deputy.     It  affords  an  amazing  suggestion,  indeed,  to 
think   of  old  Bellini,  or  our  magnificent  young  Titian, 
crossing  the  Rialto  by  the  side  of  some  homely  Teuton 
with  his  samples  in  his  pocket,  to  drive  a  noisy  bargain 
in  the  crowded  Piazza  round  San  Giacomo,  where  all  the 
merchants   congregated.     But  the  expedient  was   per- 
fectly natural    to   the  times  in  which   they    lived,  and, 
indeed,  such  resources  have  not  long  gone  out  of  use 
even  among  ourselves. 

Titian's  proposal  was  accepted,  then  modified,  and 
finally  received  and  established,  with  the  odious  addition 
that  the  broker's  place  to  be  given  to  him  was  not  simply 
the  first  vacancy,  but  the  vacancy  which  should  occur 
at  the  death  of  Zuan  Bellini,  then  a  very  old  man,  and 
naturally  incapable  of  holding  it  long.  This  brutal 
method  of  indicating  that  one  day  was  over  and  another 
begun,  and  of  pushing  the  old  monarch  from  his  place, 
throws  an  unfavorable  light  upon  the  very  pushing  and 
practical  young  painter,  who  was  thus  determined  to 
have  his  master's  seat. 


254  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

When  Bellini  died,  in  1516,  it  is  gratifying  to  know  that 
there  was  still  some  difficulty  about  the  matter,  other 
promises  apparently  having  been  made,  and  other  ex- 
pectations raised  as  to  the  vacant  brokership.  Finally, 
however,  Titian's  claim  was  allowed,  and  he  entered  into 
possession  of  the  income  about  which  he  had  been  so 
eager.  He  then  established  himself  at  San  Samuele, 
abandoning,  it  would  seem,  the  old  center  of  life  at  the 
Rialto  where  all  the  others  had  been  content  to  live  and 
labor.  It  was  like  a  migration  from  the  business  parts 
of  the  town  to  those  of  fashion,  or  at  least  gentility;  and 
perhaps  this  change  showed  already  a  beginning  of  pre- 
tension to  the  higher  social  position  which  Titian,  in  his 
later  days  at  least,  evidently  enjoyed.  They  were  noble 
in  their  rustic  way  up  at  Cadore,  and  he  who  was  pres- 
ently to  stand  before  kings  probably  assumed  already 
something  more  of  dignity  than  was  natural  to  the  son  of 
painters,  or  to  the  village  genius  who  is  known  to  pos- 
terity only  by  his  Christian  name. 

Another  day  had  now  dawned  upon  the  studies  and 
workshops.  The  reign  of  the  Bellini  was  over  and  that 
of  Titian  had  begun.  Of  his  contemporaries  and  dis- 
ciples we  cannot  undertake  any  account.  The  nearest 
in  association  and  influence  to  the  new  master  was  the 
gentle  Palma,  with  all  the  silvery  sweetness  of  color 
which,  so  far  as  the  critics  know,  he  had  found  for  himself 
in  his  village  on  the  plains,  or  acquired  somehow  by  the 
grace  of  heaven,  no  master  having  the  credit  of  them. 
Some  of  these  authorities  believe  that,  from  this  modest 
and  delightful  painter,  Titian,  all  acquisitive,  gained 
something  too;  so  much  as  to  be  almost  a  pupil  of  the 
master  who  is  so  much  less  great  than  himself.  And 
that  is  possible  enough,  for  it  is  evident  that  Titian,  like 
Moliere,  took  his  goods  where  he  found  them,  and  lost 
no  occasion  for  instruction,  whoever  supplied  it.  He 
was,  at  all  events  for  some  time,  much  linked  with  Palma, 
whose  daughter  was  long  supposed  to  be  the  favorite 
model  of  both  these  great  painters.  The  splendid 
women  whom  they  loved  to  paint,  and  who  now  stepped 
in,  as  may  be  said,  into  the  world  of  fancy,  a  new  and 
radiant  group,  with  the  glorious  hair  upon  which  both 
these  masters  expended  so  much  skill,  so  that  "every 
thread  might  be  counted,"  Vasari  says,  represent,  as 


THE   PAINTERS.  255 

imagination  hopes,  the  women  of  that  age,  the  flower  of 
Venice  at  her  highest  perfection  of  physical  magnifi- 
cence. So,  at  least,  the  worshiper  of  Venice  believes; 
finding  in  those  grand  forms,  and  in  their  opulence  of 
color  and  natural  endowment,  something  harmonious  with 
the  character  of  the  race  and  time.  From  the  same  race, 
though  with  a  higher  inspiration,  Bellini  had  drawn  his 
Madonnas,  with  stately  throats  like  columns  and  a  noble 
amplitude  of  form.  There  is  still  much  beauty  in 
Venice,  but  not  of  this  splendid  kind.  The  women  have 
dwindled,  if  they  were  ever  like  Violante.  But  she  and 
her  compeers  have  taken  their  place  as  the  fit  representa- 
tives of  that  age  of  splendor  and  luxury.  When  we  turn 
to  records  less  imaginative,  however,  the  ladies  of  Venice 
appear  to  us  under  a  different  guise.  They  are  attired  in 
cloth  of  gold,  in  brocaded  silks  and  velvets,  with  cords, 
fringes,  pendants,  and  embroidery  in  gold,  silver,  pearls, 
and  precious  stones;  "even  their  shoes  richly  orna- 
mented with  gold,"  Sanudo  tells  us;  but  they  are  feeble 
and  pale,  probably  because  of  their  way  of  living,  shut  up 
indoors  the  greater  part  of  their  time,  and  when  they  go 
out,  tottering  upon  heels  so  high  that  walking  is  scarcely 
possible,  and  the  unfortunate  ladies  in  their  grandeur  have 
to  lean  upon  the  shoulders  of  their  servants  (or  slaves) 
to  avoid  accident.  Their  heels  were  at  least  half  the 
Milanese  braccio  in  height  (more  than  nine  inches),  says 
another  authority.  Imagination  refuses  to  conceive  the 
wonderful  lady  who  lives  in  Florence,  the  "Bella"  of 
Titian,  in  all  her  magnificent  apparel,  thus  hobbling  on  a 
species  of  stilts  about  the  streets,  supported  by  one  of 
those  grinning  negroes  whose  memory  is  preserved  in  the 
parti-colored  figures  in  black  and  colored  marble  which 
pleased  the  taste  of  a  later  age.  Such,  however,  were 
the  shoes  worn  in  those  very  days  of  Bellini  and  Car- 
paccio  which  the  great  art  critic  of  our  time  points  out 
as  so  much  nobler  than  our  own;  even  pausing  in  his 
beautiful  talk  to  throw  a  little  malicious  dart  aside  at 
modern  English  (or  Scotch)  maidens  in  high-heeled 
boots.  The  nineteenth  century  has  not  after  all  deterio- 
rated so  very  much  from  the  fifteenth,  for  the  veriest 
Parisian  abhorred  of  the  arts  has  never  yet  attempted  to 
poise  upon  heels  half  a  braccio  in  height. 

These  jeweled  clogs,  however,  which,  if  memory  does 


256  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

not  deceive  us,  are  visible  on  the  floor  in  Carpaccio's 
picture  of  the  two  Venetian  ladies  in  the  Museo  Correr, 
so  much  praised  by  Mr.  Ruskin,  were  part  of  the  universal 
ornamentation  of  the  times.  The  great  wealth  of  Venice 
showed  itself  in  every  kind  of  decorative  work,  designed 
in  some  cases  rather  by  skill  than  by  common  sense. 
The  Venetian  houses  were  not  only  painted  without, 
throwing  abroad  a  surplus  splendor  to  all  the  searching 
of  the  winds,  but  were  all  glorious  within,  as  in  the 
Psalms,  the  furniture  carved  and  gilded,  the  curtains 
made  of  precious  stuff,  the  chimney-pieces  decorated  with 
the  finest  pictures,  the  beds  magnificent  with  golden 
embroidery  and  brocaded  pillows,  the  very  sheets  edged 
with  delicate  work  in  gold  thread.  When  Giorgione 
opened  his  studio,  setting  up  in  business,  so  to  speak,  he 
painted  wardrobes,  spinning  wheels,  and  more  particularly 
chests,  the  wedding  coffers  of  the  time,  of  which  so  many 
examples  remain;  and — a  fact  which  takes  away  the 
hearer's  breath — when  Titian  painted  that  noble  pallid 
Christ  of  the  Tribute  money,  he  did  it,  oh!  heavens,  on  a 
cabinet;  a  fact  which,  though  the  cabinet  was  in  the  study 
of  Alfonso  of  Ferrara,  strikes  us  with  a  sensation  of 
horror.  Only  a  prince  could  have  his  furniture  painted 
with  such  a  work;  but,  no  doubt,  in  Titian's  splendid  age 
there  might  be  many  armari,  armoires — aumries,  as  they 
were  once  called  in  Scotland — with  bits  of  his  youthful 
work,  and  glowing  panels  painted  by  Giorgione  on  the 
mantel-pieces  to  be  found  in  the  Venetian  houses.  This 
was  the  way  of  living  of  the  young  painters,  by  which 
they  came  into  knowledge  of  the  world.  Perhaps  the 
doors  of  the  wardrobe  in  a  friend's  house,  or  the  panels 
over  the  fireplace,  might  catch  the  eye  of  one  of  the 
Savii,  now  multipled  past  counting  in  every  office  of  the 
state,  who  would  straightway  exert  himself  to  have  a 
space  in  the  next  church  allotted  to  the  young  man  to 
try  his  powers  on;  when,  if  there  was  anything  in  him,  he 
had  space  and  opportunity  to  show  it,  and  prove  himself 
worthy  of  still  higher  promotion. 

It  would  seem,  however,  that  Titian  was  not  much 
appreciated  by  his  natural  patrons  during  all  the  begin- 
ning of  his  career.  There  is  no  name  of  fondness  for  him 
such  as  there  was  for  Giorgio  of  Castel  Franco.  Was  it 
perhaps  that  these  keen  Venetians,  who,  notwithstand- 


THE   PAINTERS.  257 

ing  that  failure  of  religious  faith  with  which  they  are  sud- 
denly discredited,  and  which  is  supposed  to  lie  at  the 
root  of  all  decadence  in  art,  had  still  a  keen  eye  and 
insight  for  the  true  and  real,  perceived  that  in  the  kind 
of  pictures  they  most  desired  something  was  wanting 
which  had  not  been  wanting  either  in  the  Madonnas  of 
Bellini  or  the  saints  of  Carpaccio — a  something  higher 
than  manipulation,  more  lovely  than  the  loveliest  color 
of  the  new  method?  These  sacred  pictures  might  be 
beautiful,  but  they  were  not  divine.  The  soul  had  gone 
out  of  them.  That  purity  and  wholesome  grace  which 
was  in  every  one  of  old  Zuan's  Holy  Families  had  stolen 
miraculously  out  of  Titian,  just  as  it  had  stolen  miracu- 
lously in,  no  one  knowing  how,  to  the  works  of  the  elder 
generation.  -If  this  was  the  case  indeed  it  was  an  effect 
only  partially  produced  by  the  works  of  the  young  master, 
for  his  portraits  were  all  alight  with  life  and  meaning, 
and  in  other  subjects  from  his  hand  there  was  no  lack  of 
truth  and  energy.  Whatever  the  cause  might  be,  it  is 
clear  however  that  he  was  not  popular,  though  the 
acknowledged  greatest  of  all  the  younger  painters.  It  was 
only  the  possibility  of  seeing  his  services  transferred  to 
the  Pope  that  procured  his  admission  to  the  privileges  of 
state  employment;  and  it  was  after  his  fame  had  been 
echoed  from  Ferrara  and  Bologna  and  Rome,  and  by  the 
great  emperor  himself — the  magnificent  patron  who 
picked  up  his  brush,  and  with  sublime  condescension 
declared  that  a  Titian  might  well  be  served  by  Caesar — 
that  the  more  critical  and  fastidious  Venetians,  or  per- 
haps it  might  only  be  the  more  prejudiced  and  hardly 
judging,  gave  way  to  the  strong  current  of  opinion  in  his 
favor,  and  began  to  find  him  a  credit  to  Venice.  As  soon 
as  this  conviction  became  general  the  tide  of  public  feel- 
ing changed,  and  the  republic  became  proud  of  the  man 
who,  amid  all  the  disasters  that  began  to  disturb  her 
complacence  and  interrupt  her  prosperity,  had  done  her 
credit  and  added  to  her  fame. 

^It  is  evident,  however,  that  even  when  he  finally  got  his 
chance,  and  painted,  for  the  church  of  the  Frari,  the 
magnificent  "Assumption" which  occupies  now  a  kind  of 
throne  in  the  Accademia  as  if  in  some  sort  the  sovereign 
of  Venice,  doubts  pursued  him  to  the  end  of  his  work. 
Fra  Marco  Jerman  or  Germane,  the  head  of  the  convent, 


258  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

who  had  ordered  it  at  his  own  expense  and  fatted  it,  when 
completed,  into  a  fine  framework  of  marble  for  the  high 
altar,  had  many  a  criticism  to  make  during  the  frequent 
anxious  visits  he  paid  to  the  painter  at  his  work.  Titian 
was  troubled  indeed  by  all  the  ignorant  brethren  coming 
and  going,  molestato  dalle  frequenti  visite  loro,  and  by  il poco 
loro  intendimento,  their  small  understanding  of  the  necessi- 
ties of  art.  They  were  all  of  the  opinion  that  the  Apostles 
in  the  foreground  were  too  large,  di  troppo  smisurata 
grandezza,  and  though  he  took  no  small  trouble  to 
persuade  them  that  the  figures  must  be  in  proportion  to 
the  vastness  of  the  space,  and  the  position  which  the 
picture  was  to  occupy,  yet  nevertheless  the  monks  con- 
tinued to  grumble  and  shake  their  heads,  and  make  their 
observations  to  each  other  under  their  hoods,  doubting 
even  whether  the  picture  was  good  enough  to  be 
accepted  at  all,  after  all  the  fuss  that  had  been  made 
about  it,  and  the  painter-fellow's  occupation  of  their 
church  itself  as  his  painting  room.  The  ignorant  are 
often  the  most  difficult  to  please.  But  the  condition  of 
the  doubting  convent,  with  no  confidence  in  its  own  judg- 
ment, and  a  haunting  terror  lest  Venice  should  sneer  or 
jeer  when  the  picture  was  uncovered,  is  comprehensible 
enough.  Titian,  it  is  evident,  had  not  even  now  attained 
such  an  assured  position  as  would  justify  his  patrons  in 
any  certainty  of  the  excellence  of  his  work.  He  was  still 
on  his  promotion,  with  no  settled  conviction  in  the  minds 
of  the  townsfolk  as  to  his  genius  and  power.  No  doubt 
the  brethren  all  thought  that  their  guardiano  had  done  a 
rash  thing  in  engaging  him,  and  Fra  Marco  himself  trem- 
bled at  the  thought  of  the  mistake  he  might  perhaps  have 
made.  It  was  not  until  the  emperor's  envoy,  already,  it 
is  evident,  a  strong  partisan  of  Titian,  and  bringing  to 
his  work  an  eye  unclouded  by  local  prepossessions, 
declared  that  the  picture  was  a  marvelous  picture,  and 
offered  a  large  sum  if  they  would  give  it  up,  in  order  that 
he  might  send  it  to  his  master,  that  the  frati  began  to 
think  it  might  be  better  perhaps  to  held  by  their  bargain. 
"Upon  which  offer,"  says  Ridolfi,  "the  fathers  in  their 
chapter  decided,  after  the  opinion  of  the  most  prudent, 
not  to  give  up  the  picture  to  anyone;  recognizing  finally 
that  art  was  not  their  profession,  and  that  the  use  of  the 
breviary  did  not  convey  an  understanding  of  painting." 


THE    PAINTERS.  259 

It  is  curious  to  find  that  Vasari  makes  no  particular 
note  of  this  picture  except  to  say  that  it  cannot  be  well 
seen  (that  is,  in  its  original  position  in  the  Frari),  and  that 
Marco  Sanudo,  in  recording  its  first  exhibition,  mentions 
the  frame  as  if  it  was  a  thing  quite  as  important  as  the 
picture.  Such  is  the  vagueness  of  contemporary  opinion. 
It  seems,  at  all  events,  to  have  been  the  first  picture  of 
Titian's  which  at  all  struck  the  imagination  of  his  time. 
By  this  time,  however,  he  had  begun  to  be  courted  by 
foreign  potentates,  and  it  is  evident  that  his  hands  were 
very  full  of  commissions,  and  that  some  shiftiness  and 
many  of  the  expedients  of  the  dilatory  and  unpunctual 
were  in  his  manner  of  dealing  with  his  patrons,  to  whom 
he  was  very  humble  in  his  letters,  but  not  very  faithful  in 
his  promises.  And  now  that  he  has  reached  the  full 
maturity  of  power,  Titian  unfolds  to  us  a  view,  not  so 
much  of  Venice,  as  of  a  corrupt  and  luxurious  society  in 
Venice,  which  is  of  a  very  different  character  from  the 
simplicities  of  his  predecessors  in  art.  Even  young  Gior- 
gione's  gay  dissipations,  his  love  of  lute  and  song,  his  pre- 
tensions to  gallantry  and  finery,  mischiante  sempre  amore 
with  all  his  doings,  have  a  boyish  and  joyous  sweetness,  in 
comparison  with  the  much  more  luxurious  life  in  which 
we  now  find  his  old  companion;  the  vile  society  of  the 
Aretino  who  flattered  and  intrigued  for  him,  and  led 
Titian,  too,  not  unwilling,  to  intrigue  and  flatter  and 
sometimes  betray.  Perhaps  at  no  time  had  there  been 
much  virtue  and  purity  to  boast  of  in  the  career  of  the 
painter  who  had  half  forced  the  Signoria  into  giving  him 
his  appointment,  and  seized  upon  old  Zuan  Bellini's 
office  before  he  was  dead;  then  dallied  with  the  work  he 
seemed  so  eager  to  undertake,  and  left  it  hanging  on 
hand  for  years.  But  the  arrival  of  Pietro  Aretino  in 
Venice  seems  to  have  been  the  signal  for  the  establish- 
ment there  of  a  society  such  as  the  much  boasted 
Renaissance  of  classical  learning  and  art  seems  every- 
where to  have  brought  with  it;  shaming  the  ancient  gods 
which  were  thus  proved  so  little  capable  of  reinspiring 
mankind.  There  is  no  one  in  all  the  sphere  of  history 
and  criticism  who  has  a  good  word  to  say  of  Aretino. 
He  was  the  very  type  of  the  base-born  adventurer,  the 
hanger-on  of  courts,  the  entirely  corrupt  and  dazzlingly 
clever  parasite,  whose  wit  and  cunning  and  impudence 


260  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

and  unscrupulousness,  his  touch  of  genius  and  cynical 
indifference  to  every  law  and  mortal  restraint,  gave  him 
a  power  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  understand,  but 
impossible  to  deny.  That  such  a  man  should  be  able  to 
recommend  the  greatest  painter  of  the  day  to  the  greatest 
potentate — Titian  to  Charles  V. — is  amazing  beyond 
description,  but  it  would  seem  to  have  been  directly  or 
indirectly  the  case.  Aretino  had  an  immense  corre- 
spondence with  all  the  cultured  persons  of  his  time,  and 
in  the  letters  which  were  a  sort  of  trade  to  him,  and  by 
which  he  kept  himself  and  his  gifts  and  pretensions 
before  the  great  people  who  ministered  to  his  wants,  he 
had  it  in  his  power  to  spread  the  fame  of  a  friend,  and 
let  the  dukes  and  princes  know — the  young  men  who 
were  proud  of  a  correspondent  so  clever  and  wise  and 
learned  in  all  depravity  as  well  as  all  the  sciences  of  the 
beautiful;  and  the  old  men  who  liked  his  gossip  and  his 
pungent  comments,  and  thought  they  could  keep  a  hold 
upon  the  world  by  such  means — that  here  was  another 
accomplished  vassal  ready  to  serve  their  pleasure.  How 
such  a  mixture  of  the  greatest  and  the  basest  is  practic- 
able, and  how  it  has  so  often  happened  that  the  lovers 
of  every  beautiful  art  should  be  in  themselves  so 
unbeautiful,  so  low  in  all  the  true  loveliness  of  humanity, 
while  so  sensitive  to  its  external  refinements,  is  a  ques- 
tion of  far  too  much  gravity  and  intricacy  to  be  discussed 
here.  Titian  found  a  better  market  for  his  Venuses  and 
Ariadnes  among  the  Hellenized  elegants  of  the  time,  at 
the  courts  of  those  splendid  princes  who  were  at  the 
summit  of  fashion  and  taste,  and  a  far  more  appreciative 
audience  (so  to  speak)  than  he  ever  found  at  home  for 
the  religious  pictures  which  his  countrymen  felt  to  be 
without  any  soul,  beautiful  though  their  workmanship 
might  be. 

In  another  region  of  art,  however,  he  was  now  without 
a  rival.  The  splendid  power  of  portraiture,  in  which  no 
painter  of  any  age  has  ever  surpassed  him,  conducted 
him  to  other  triumphs.  It  was  this  which  procured  him 
the  patronage  of  Charles  V.,  who  not  only  sat  to  him 
repeatedly,  but  declared  him  to  be  the  only  painter  he 
would  care  to  honor,  and  called  him  an  Apelles,  and  all 
the  other  fine  things  of  that  classical  jargon  which  was 
so  conventional  and  so  meaningless.  Certainly  nothing 


THE    PAINTERS.  26l 

can  be  more  magnificent  than  the  portraits  with  which 
Titian  has  helped  to  make  the  history  of  his  age.  The 
splendor  of  color  in  them  is  not  more  remarkable  than 
that  force  of  reality  and  meaning  which  is  so  wanting  in 
his  smooth  Madonnas,  so  unnecessary  to  his  luxurious 
goddesses.  The  men  whom  Titian  paints  are  almost  all 
worthy  to  be  senators  or  emperors;  no  trifling  coxcomb, 
no  foolish  gallant,  ever  looks  out  upon  us  from  his  canvas, 
but  a  series  of  noble  personages  worthy  their  rank  and 
importance  in  the  world.  It  is  difficult  to  overrate  the 
power  which  has  this  fine  effect.  Even  in  the  much  dis- 
cussed decorative  tableau  of  the  "  Presentation,"  with  its 
odious  old  woman  and  her  eggs,  which  are  tanto  naturale, 
according  to  the  vulgar,  the  group  of  gentlemen  at  the 
foot  of  the  stair  are  noble  every  one,  requiring  no  pedi- 
gree. It  was  only  just  that  in  recompense  of  such  a 
power  the  great  emperor  should  have  ennobled  Titian 
and  made  him  Cavalier  and  Count  Palatine  and  every 
other  splendid  thing.  Such  rewards  were  more  appro- 
priate in  his  case  than  they  would  have  been  in  almost 
any  other.  It  was  in  his  power  to  confer  the  splendor 
they  loved  upon  the  subjects  of  his  pencil,  and  hand 
them  down  to  posterity  as  if  they  all  were  heroes  and 
philosophers.  The  least  the  emperor  could  do  was  to 
endow  the  painter  with  some  share  of  that  magnificence 
which  he  bestowed. 

And  when  we  look  back  upon  him  where  he  still  reigns 
in  Venice,  it  is  not  with  any  thought  of  his  matronly 
Madonna  among  her  cherubs,  notwithstanding  all  the 
importance  which  has  been  locally  given  to  that  imposing 
composition,  any  more  than,  when  we  turn  to  the  mag- 
nificent picture  painted  for  the  same  church,  the  altar- 
piece  of  the  Pesaro  chapel,  known  as  the  Madonna  of  the 
Pesaro  family,  it  is  the  sacred  personages  who  attract 
our  regard.  In  vain  is  the  sacred  group  throned  on 
high:  the  Virgin  with  her  Child  is  without  significance, 
no  true  Queen  of  Heaven,  with  no  mission  of  blessing  to 
the  world;  but  the  group  of  Venetian  nobles  beneath, 
kneeling  in  proud  humility,  their  thoughts  fixed  on  the 
grandeur  of  their  house  and  the  accomplishment  of  their 
aims,  like  true  sons  of  the  masterful  republic — not  neg- 
ligent of  the  help  that  our  Lady  and  the  saints  may 
bestow  if  properly  propitiated,  and  snatching  a  moment 


262  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

accordingly  to  lay  their  ambitions  and  keen,  worldly 
desires  distinctly  before  her  and  her  court — live  forever, 
genuine  representatives  of  one  of  the  most  powerful 
civilizations  of  the  mid-ages,  true  men  of  their  time.  And 
with  a  surprise  of  art,  a  sudden  human  gleam  of  interest, 
an  appeal  to  our  kindred  and  sympathy  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  withstand,  there  looks  out  at  us  from  the 
canvas  a  young  face  careless  of  all,  both  the  Madonna 
and  the  family,  a  little  weary  of  that  senseless  kneeling, 
a  little  wondering  at  the  motive  of  it,  seeking  in  the  eyes 
of  the  spectator  some  response  more  human,  full  of  the 
abstraction  of  youth,  to  which  the  world  is  not  yet  open, 
but  full  of  dreams.  If  our  practical,  money-making, 
pleasure-loving  painter  had  found  in  his  busy  life  any 
time  for  symbols,  we  might  take  this  beautiful  face  as  a 
representation  of  that  new  undeveloped  life  seen  only  to 
be  different  from  the  old,  which,  with  a  half  weariness 
and  half  disdain  of  the  antiquated  practices  of  its  pred- 
ecessors, kneels  there  along  with  them  in  physical 
subordination  but  mental  superiority,  not  sufficiently 
awakened  to  strain  against  the  curb  as  yet,  with  opposi- 
tion only  nascent;  an  instinctive  separation  and  abstrac- 
tion rather  than  rebellion  of  thought.  But  Titian,  we 
may  be  sure,  thought  of  none  of  these  things.  He  must 
have  caught  the  look,  half  protest,  half  appeal,  that  the 
tired  youth  (at  the  same  time  partially  overawed  by 
his  position)  turned  toward  him  as  he  knelt;  and  with 
the  supreme  perception  of  a  great  artist  of  meanings 
more  than  he  takes  the  trouble  to  fathom,  save  for  their 
effect,  have  secured  the  look,  for  our  admiration  and 
sympathy  evermore. 

In  the  full  maturity  of  his  age  and  fame  Titian 
removed  from  his  dwelling  at  San  Samuele,  where  he  had 
lived  amid  his  workshops  midway  between  the  two 
centers  of  Venetian  life,  the  Rialto  and  the  Piazza,  to  a 
luxurious  and  delightful  house  in  San  Cassiano,  on  that 
side  of  Venice  which  faces  Murano  and  the  wide  lagoon 
with  all  its  islands.  There  is  no  trace  to  be  found  now 
of  that  home  of  delights.  The  water  has  receded,  the 
banks  have  crept  outward,  and  the  houses  of  the  poor 
now  cover  the  garden  where  the  finest  company  in 
Venice  once  looked  out  upon  one  of  the  most  marvelous 
scenes  in  the  world.  The  traveler  may  skirt  the  bank 


THE   PAINTERS.  263 

and  linger  along  the  lagoon  many  a  day  without  seeing 
the  sea  fog  lift,  and  the  glorious  line  of  the  Dolomite 
Alps  come  out  against  the  sky.  But  when  that  revelation 
occurs  to  him  he  will  understand  the  splendor  of  the 
scene,  and  why  it  was  that  the  painter  chose  that  house, 
looking  out  across  the  garden  and  its  bosquets  upon  the 
marvelous  line  of  mountains  coming  sheer  down,  as 
appears,  to  the  water's  edge,  soaring  clear  upward  in  wild 
yet  harmonious  variety  of  sharp  needles  and  rugged 
peaks — here  white  with  snow,  there  rising  in  the  somber 
grandeur  of  the  living  rock,  glistening  afar  with  reflec- 
tions, the  lines  of  torrents,  and  every  tint  that  atmosphere 
and  distance  give.  When  the  atmosphere,  so  often  heavy 
with  moisture  and  banked  with  low-lying  cloud,  clears, 
and  the  sun  brings  out  triumphantly  like  a  new  discovery 
that  range  of  miraculous  hills,  and  the  lurid  line  of  the 
lagoon  stretches  out  and  brims  over  upon  the  silvery 
horizon,  and  the  towers  of  Torcello  and  Murano  in  the 
distance,  with  other  smaller  isles,  stand  up  out  of  the 
water,  miraculous  too,  with  no  apparent  footing  of  land 
upon  which  to  poise  themselves,  the  scene  is  still  beautiful 
beyond  description,  notwithstanding  the  frightful  straight 
lines  of  red  and  white  wall  which  inclose  San  Michele, 
the  burial  place  of  Venice,  and  the  smoke  and  high  chim- 
neys of  the  Murano  glassworks.  The  walls  of  San 
Michele  did  not  exist  in  Titian's  day;  but  I  wonder 
whether  Mr.  Ruskin  thinks  there  was  no  smoke  over 
Murano,  even  in  the  ages  of  primal  simplicity  and  youth. 
There  is  nothing  now  but  a  crowd  of  somewhat  dilapi- 
pated  houses  in  these  inferior  parts  of  the  city,  sadly 
mean  and  common  on  close  inspection,  amid  the  bewilder- 
ing maze  of  small  streets  through  which  the  traveler  is 
hurried  now  to  see  what  is  left  (which  is  nothing)  of  the 
house  of  Titian;  and  very  squalid  along  the  quays  of  the 
Fondamenta  Nuova,  with  obvious  signs  everywhere  that 
this  is  the  back  of  the  town,  and  freed  from  all  necessity 
for  keeping  up  appearances.  In  Titian's  day  it  was  a 
retired  suburban  quarter,  with  green  fields  edging  the 
level  shore,  and  stretching  on  each  side  of  that  garden 
in  which  grew  the  trees,  and  over  which  shone  the  sky 
which  formed  the  background  of  the  great  "  Peter  Martyr," 
the  picture  which  was  burned  in  1867,  and  which  everybody 
is  free  to  believe  was  Titian's  chef  d'auvre.  Here  the 


264  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

painter  gathered  his  friends  about  him,  and  supped  gayly 
in  the  lovely  evenings,  while  the  sun  from  behind  them 
shot  his  low  rays  along  the  lagoon,  and  caught  a  few 
campaniles  here  and  there  gleaming  white  in  the  dim 
line  of  scarcely  visible  country  at  the  foot  of  the  hills. 
If  the  sun  were  still  too  high  when  the  visitors  arrived 
there  was  plenty  to  see  in  the  house,  looking  over  the 
pictures  with  which  it  was  crowded:  the  wonderful,  glow- 
ing heads  of  dukes  and  emperors;  great  Charles  in  all 
his  splendor;  or — more  splendid  still — the  nymphs  and 
goddesses  without  any  aid  of  ornament,  which  were 
destined  for  all  the  galleries  in  Europe.  A  famous  gram- 
marian from  Rome,  Priscian  by  name,  in  the  month  of 
August,  1540,  describes  such  a  party,  the  convives  being 
Aretino  ("a  new  miracle  of  nature"),  Sansovino  the 
architect  of  San  Marco,  Nardi  the  Florentine  historian, 
and  himself. 

The  house  [he  says]  is  situated  in  the  extreme  part  of  Venice  on  the 
sea,  and  from  it  one  sees  the  pretty  little  island  of  Murano  and  other 
beautiful  places.  This  part  of  the  sea,  as  soon  as  the  sun  went  down, 
swarmed  with  gondolas,  adorned  with  beautiful  women,  and  resounding 
with  the  varied  harmony  and  music  of  voices  and  instruments  which 
till  midnight  accompanied  our  delightful  supper,  which  was  no  less 
beautiful  and  well  arranged  than  copious  and  well  provided.  Besides  the 
most  delicate  viands  and  precious  wines  there  were  all  those  pleasures 
and  amusements  that  were  suited  to  the  season,  the  guests,  and  the  feast. 

While  they  were  at  their  fruit  letters  arrived  from 
Rome,  and  there  suddenly  rose  a  discussion  upon  the 
superiority  of  Latin  to  Italian,  very  exciting  to  the  men 
of  letters — though  the  painters,  no  doubt,  took  it  more 
quietly,  or  looked  aside  through  the  trees  to  where  the 
wonderful  silvery  gleaming  of  the  sea  and  sky  kept  light 
and  life  in  the  evening  landscape,  or  a  snowy  peak  revealed 
itself  like  a  white  cloud  upon  the  gray;  while  the  magical 
atmosphere,  sweet  and  cool  with  the  breath  of  night 
after  the  fervid  day,  a  world  of  delicious  space  about 
them,  thrilled  with  the  soft  rush  of  the  divided  water 
after  every  gondola,  the  tinkle  of  the  oar,  the  subdued 
sounds  of  voices  from  the  lagoon,  and  the  touching  of 
the  lute.  Round  the  table  in  the  garden  the  sounds  of 
the  discussion  were  perhaps  less  sweet;  but,  no  doubt,  the 
Venetian  promenaders,  taking  their  evening  row  along 
the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  kept  as  close  to  the  shore  as 


THE   PAINTERS.  265 

courtesy  permitted,  heard  the  murmur  of  the  talk  with 
admiration,  and  pointed  out  where  Messer  Tiziano,  the 
great  painter,  feasted  and  entertained  his  noble  guests  in 
the  shade. 

For  doubtless  Titian,  Knight,  Count  Palatine,  with 
jeweled  collar  and  spurs  at  heel,  was  by  this  time  a  per- 
sonage who  drew  every  eye,  notwithstanding  that  the 
Signoria  were  but  little  pleased  with  him,  and  after  a 
hundred  fruitless  representations  about  that  picture  in 
the  great  hall,  took  the  strong  step  at  last  of  taking  his 
brokership  from  him,  and  calling  upon  him,  in  the  midst 
of  his  careless  superiority,  to  refund  the  money  which 
he  had  been  drawing  all  these  years  in  payment  of 
work  which  he  had  never  executed.  This  powerful 
appeal  made  him  set  aside  his  royal  commissions  for  a 
time  and  complete  the  picture  in  the  hall,  which  was 
that  of  a  battle,  very  immaterial  to  anyone  now,  as  it 
perished  with  all  the  rest  in  the  fire.  This,  however, 
was  a  most  effectual  way  of  recalling  the  painter  to  his 
duties,  for  he  never  seems  throughout  his  life  to  have 
had  enough  of  money,  though  that  indeed  is  not  an 
unusual  case.  His  letters  to  his  patrons  are,  however, 
full  to  an  undignified  extent  with  this  subject.  The 
emperor  had  granted  him  a  certain  income  from  the 
revenues  of  Naples,  which  however  turned  out  a  very 
uncertain  income,  and  is  the  subject  of  endless  remon- 
strance and  appeals.  To  the  very  end  of  his  life  there 
is  scarcely  one  of  his  letters  in  which  the  failure  of  this, 
or  of  a  similar  grant  upon  Milan,  or  of  some  other  mode 
in  which  his  royal  and  imperial  patrons  had  paid  for  their 
personal  acquisitions  by  orders  upon  somebody  else's 
treasury,  is  not  complained  of.  Titian,  it  would  seem, 
eventually  got  his  money,  but  not  without  a  great  deal 
of  trouble;  fighting  for  it  strenuously  by  every  means 
that  could  be  thought  of.  And  he  pursued  his  labors 
ceaselessly;  producing  pictures  of  every  kind — a  Christ 
one  day,  a  Venus  the  next — with  a  serene  impartiality. 
Anything  is  to  be  got  from  Titian  for  money,  says  the 
envoy  of  King  Philip,  after  the  great  days  of  Charles  are 
over.  He  pleads  for  a  benefice  for  his  son  who  is  a 
priest,  for  the  enforcement  of  his  claims  upon  state 
revenues  because  of  the  betrothal  of  his  daughter,  and 
because  he  is  growing  old,  and  for  a  number  of  reasons, 


266  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

always  eager  to  have  the  money  at  any  cost.  "  He  is 
old  and  therefore  avaricious,"  says  Philip's  ambassador. 
But  to  the  last  he  could  paint  his  Venuses,  though 
coarsely,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  these  studies  from  the 
nude  suddenly  would  produce  a  "Last  Supper,"  credited 
once  more  among  so  many,  by  the  busy  coteries  and 
critics,  as  likely  to  be  Titian's  best. 

At  the  same  time  this  great  and  celebrated  painter, 
who  thought  no  harm  to  fleece  the  dukes,  and  to  insist 
upon  their  money,  had  and,  alas!  forgot,  it  seems,  the 
honor  and  glory  of  being  Titian,  and  aimed  at  a  rich 
man's  substance  and  estimation — this  magnificent  Vene- 
tian, with  his  feudal  powers  and  title,  never  forgot  little 
Cadore  among  the  hills,  toward  which  his  windows 
looked,  and  where  his  kindred  dwelt.  There  is  a  letter 
extant  from  his  cousin,  another  Titian,  but  so  different, 
thanking  him  for  his  good  offices,  which  among  all  those 
letters  about  money  is  a  refreshment  to  see.  The  Tizi- 
ano  of  the  village  regrets  deeply  to  have  been  absent 
when  his  "all  but  brother"  the  great  Titian,  he  whose 
name  was  known  over  all  the  world,  visited  Cadore, 
and  therefore  to  have  been  prevented  from  "making 
proper  return  for  all  vie  owe  you,  in  respect  of  numerous 
proofs  of  friendship  shown  to  our  community  at  large, 
and  in  special  to  our  envoys,  for  all  of  which  you  may  be 
assured  we  have  a  grateful  memory."  He  then  informs 
his  kinsman  that  two  citizens  have  been  appointed  as  ora- 
tors or  spokesmen  of  the  city  to  the  Signoria  of  Venice, 
and  implores  for  them  Titian's  "favor  and  assistance, 
which  must  insure  success."  "My  son  Vecello,"  con- 
tinues the  writer,  "begs  you  to  give  him  your  interest  in 
respect  of  the  place  of  San  Francesco,  and  this  by  way  of 
an  exchange  of  services,  as  I  am  ready  at  all  times  to  second 
your  wishes  and  consult  your  convenience";  and  finally 
requests  to  know  when  the  money  is  to  be  paid  "which 
you  so  courteously  lent  to  the  community."  "In  con- 
clusion we  beg  of  you  to  command  us  all;  and  should 
this  exchange  of  services  be  carried  out  on  both  sides,  it 
will  be  a  proof  of  the  utmost  kindness  and  charity,  in 
which  it  is  our  wish  that  God  should  help  you  for  many 
years." 

It  would  be  curious  to  imagine  what  the  little  highland 
borgo  could  do  for  Titian  in  exchange  for  his  kindnesses. 


THE   PAINTERS.  267 

He  painted  them  a  picture  at  a  later  date  for  which  they 
paid  him  in  a  delightful  way,  granting  him  a  piece  of  land 
upon  which  he  built  a  cottage.  This  house  was  pitched 
on  a  marvelous  mount  of  vision  on  the  side  of  one  of 
those  magnificent  hills;  so  that  his  dwelling  above  and  his 
home  below  must  have  exchanged  visions,  so  to  speak, 
in  the  vast  space  of  blue  that  lay  between. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this  glory  and  honor,  there 
were  critics  in  his  own  craft  and  a  prevailing  sentiment 
underneath  the  admiration  extorted  from  Venice,  which 
detracted  a  little  from  the  fame  of  Titian.  The  common 
people  would  not  love  his  goddesses,  though  the  princes 
adored  them.  The  commonalty,  with  a  prejudice  which 
no  doubt  shows  their  ignorance,  yet  has  its  advantages, 
never  out  of  Greece  approves  the  nude,  whatever  con- 
noisseurs may  say.  And  the  ambassadors  were  wanting 
in  respect,  yet  true  to  fact,  when  they  said  that  for  money 
anything  could  be  got  from  the  great  painter  who  never 
had  enough  for  his  needs.  Another  criticism,  which 
would  have  affected  him  more  than  either  of  these,  was 
that  of  some  of  his  great  rivals  in  art,  who,  with  all  their 
admiration,  had  still  something  to  find  fault  with  in  the 
method  of  his  work.  When  Titian  visited  Rome  it  was 
the  good  fortune  of  Vasari,  who  had  already  some 
acquaintance  with  him,  to  show  him  the  great  sights  of 
that  capital  of  the  world.  And  one  day  while  Titian  was 
painting  his  portrait  of  the  Pope,  Messer  Giorgio,  the  good 
Florentine,  accompanied  by  a  great  countryman  of  his, 
no  less  a  personage  than  Michael  Angelo,  paid  the  Vene- 
tian painter  a  visit  at  his  studio  in  the  Belvedere,  where 
they  saw  the  picture  of  Danae  under  the  rain  of  gold,  a 
wonderful  piece  of  color  and  delicate  flesh-painting,  which 
they  applauded  greatly.  But  afterward,  as  they  came 
away,  talking  together  in  their  grave  Tuscan  style,  the 
great  master  of  design  shook  his  serious  head  while  he 
repeated  his  praises.  What  a  pity,  che peccato!  that  these 
Venetian  painters  did  not  learn  to  draw  from  the  begin- 
ning and  had  not  a  more  thorough  method  of  teaching — 
for,  said  he,  "  if  this  man  were  aided  by  art,  and  laws  of 
design,  as  he  is  by  nature,  and  by  his  power  of  counter- 
feiting life,  no  one  could  attain  greater  excellence  than 
he,  having  such  a  noble  genius  and  such  a  fine  and 
animated  manner  of  working."  In  almost  the  same 


268  THE   MAKERS   OF   VENICE. 

words  Sebastian  del  Piombo  lamented  to  Messer  Giorgio 
the  same  defect;  which  certainly  must  have  been  Vasari's 
opinion  too,  or  his  friends  would  not  have  remarked  it  so 
freely.  But  they  all  allowed  that  he  was  il  piu  bello  e 
maggiore  imitatore  della  Natura  than  had  ever  been  seen; 
and  perhaps  this  was  praise  enough  for  one  man. 

He  lived  till  ninety,  a  splendid,  successful,  prosperous, 
but  not  very  elevated  or  noble  life;  working  on  till  the 
very  end,  not  from  necessity,  or  from  any  higher  motive, 
but  apparently  from  a  love  of  gain  and  tradesmanlike 
instinct  against  refusing  any  order,  as  well  as,  no  doubt, 
from  a  true  love  of  the  beautiful  art  to  which  his  life  had 
been  devoted  from  childhood  up.  The  boy  of  ten  who 
had  come  down  from  his  mountains  to  clean  Zuan  Bellini's 
palette,  and  pick  up  the  secrets  of  the  craft  in  his  bottega 
before  he  was  old  enough  for  serious  teaching,  had  a  long 
career  from  that  beginning  until  the  day  when  he  was 
carried  to  the  Frari  in  hasty  state,  by  special  order  of 
the  Signoria,  to  be  buried  there  against  all  law  and  rule, 
while  the  other  victims  of  the  plague  were  taken  in  secret 
to  outlying  islands  and  put  into  the  earth  out  of  the  way, 
in  the  hideous  panic  which  that  horrible  complaint  brought 
with  it.  But  never  during  all  this  long  interval,  three 
parts  of  a  century,  had  he  given  up  the  close  pursuit  of 
his  art.  And  what  changes  during  that  time  had  passed 
over  Art  in  Venice!  The  timid  tempera  period  was 
altogether  extinct — the  disciples  of  the  old  school  all 
gone;  and  of  the  first  generation  which  revolutionized 
the  Venetian  bottegas,  and  brought  nature  and  the  secret 
of  lustrous  modern  color,  and  ease  and  humanity  into 
Art,  none  were  left.  Bellini  and  Carpaccio  and  all  the 
throng  of  lesser  masters  had  been  swept  away  in  the  long 
inevitable  procession  of  the  generations.  And  their 
principles  had  been  carried  into  the  sensuous  brilliancy 
of  a  development  which  loved  color  and  the  dimpled 
roundness  of  flesh,  and  the  beauty  which  is  of  the  body 
rather  than  the  mind.  When  Titian  began,  his  teachers 
and  masters  applied  all  their  faculties  to  the  setting  forth 
of  a  noble  ideal,  of  perfect  devotion  and  purity  of  man- 
hood and  womanhood,  with  the  picturesque  clothing  and 
sentiment  of  their  century,  yet  consecrated  by  some 
higher  purpose,  something  in  which  all  the  generations 
should  sympathize  and  be  of  accord.  When  he  ended, 


THE    PAINTERS.  269 

the  world  was  full  of  images  lovely  in  their  manner,  in 
which  the  carnagione  of  the  naked  limbs,  the  painting  of 
a  dimple,  were  of  more  importance  than  all  the  emotions 
that  touch  the  soul.  It  is  none  of  our  business  to  make 
moral  distinctions  between  the  one  method  and  the  other. 
This  was  the  result  in  Venice  of  that  new  inspiration 
which  the  older  painters  had  first  turned  to  every  pious 
and  noble  use.  And  it  was  Titian  in  his  love  of  beauty, 
in  his  love  of  money,  in  his  magnificent  faculty  of  work 
and  adaptability  to  the  wishes  of  the  time,  that  brought 
it  about.  His  associates  of  youth  all  dropped  from  him, 
the  gentle  Palma,  now  called  il  Vecchio,  dying  midway 
in  the  career  of  the  robuster  companion,  as  Giorgione 
had  fallen  at  its  beginning.  In  his  long  life  and  endless 
labors,  as  well  as  in  his  more  persevering  and  steady 
power,  Titian,  whatever  hints  and  instructions  he  may 
have  taken,  as  his  later  prosaic  biographers  suggest,  from 
each  of  them,  outdid  them  both.  And  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  he  still  stands  above  them  all,  at  least  in  the 
general  estimation;  dwelling  in  a  supremacy  of  skill  and 
strength  upon  the  side  of  the  deep,  flowing  stream  that 
divides  Venice;  dominating  everything  that  came  after 
him,  like  the  white  marble  mountain  of  the  Salute,  but 
never  learning  the  heavenly  secret  of  the  elder  brother- 
hood who  first  instructed  his  youth. 

There  are  some  picturesque  anecdotes  of  Titian  which 
everybody  knows,  as,  for  instance,  that  of  the  astounding 
moment  in  which  the  painter  having  dropped  a  brush, 
great  Charles,  the  lord  of  so  many  kingdoms,  a  Spaniard 
and  accustomed  to  the  utmost  rigidity  of  etiquette,  the 
Roman  emperor  at  the  apex  of  human  glory,  made  the 
hair  stand  on  end  of  every  courtly  beholder  by  picking  it 
up.  "  Your  servant  is  unworthy  of  such  an  honor,"  said 
Titian,  in  words  that  might  have  been  addressed  to  some- 
thing divine.  "A  Titian  is  worthy  to  be  served  by 
Caesar,"  replied  his  imperial  majesty,  not  undervaluing 
the  condescension,  as  perhaps  a  friendly  English  prince 
who  had  acted  on  impulse,  or  a  more  light-hearted 
Frenchman  with  the  de  Hen  of  exquisite  courtesy,  might 
have  done.  Charles  knew  it  was  an  incident  for  history, 
and  conducted  himself  accordingly.  There  is  a  prettier 
and  more  pleasant  suggestion  in  the  scene  recorded  by 
Ridolfi,  which  describes  how  Titian,  while  painting 


270  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Alfonso  of  Este,  the  Duke  of  Ferrara,  was  visited  by 
Ariosto  with  the  divino  suo  poema  in  his  pocket,  which  he 
was  still  in  the  course  of  writing — who  read  aloud  his 
verses  for  the  delight  of  both  sitter  and  painter,  and 
afterward  talked  it  over,  and  derived  much  advantage 
from  Titian's  criticisms  and  remarks,  which  helped  him 
"  in  the  description  of  landscapes  and  in  setting  forth 
the  beauty  of  Alcina,  Angelica,  and  Bradamante." 
"Thus,"  Ridolfi  adds,  "Art  held  the  office  of  mute 
poetry,  and  poetry  of  painting  eloquent." 


CHAPTER   III. 

TINTORETTO. 

WHEN  Titian  was  at  the  height,  or  rather  approaching 
the  height,  of  his  honors,  a  certain  little  dyer,  or  dyer's 
son,  a  born  Venetian,  from  one  of  the  side  canals  where 
the  tintori  are  still  by  times  to  be  seen,  purple-limbed 
from  the  dye-houses,  was  brought  to  his  studio.  The  lad 
had  daubed  with  his  father's  colors  since  he  could  walk, 
tracing  figures  upon  the  walls  and  every  vacant  space, 
and,  no  doubt,  with  his  spirito  siravagante  making  himself 
a  nuisance  to  all  his  belongings.  Robusto,  the  father, 
was  a  man  of  sense,  no  doubt,  and  saw  it  was  vain  to 
strive  against  so  strong  a  natural  impulse;  besides,  there 
was  no  reason  why  he  should  do  so,  for  he  had  no  posi- 
tion to  forfeit,  and  the  trade  of  a  painter  was  a  prosper- 
ous trade,  and  not  one  to  be  despised  by  any  honest 
citizen.  We  are  not  told  at  what  age  young  Jacopo,  the 
tintorettino,  the  little  dyer,  came  into  the  great  painter's 
studio.  But  he  was  born  in  1512,  and  if  we  suppose  him 
to  be  fifteen  or  so,  no  doubt  that  would  be  the  furthest 
age  which  he  was  likely  to  have  reached  before  being  set 
to  his  apprenticeship  by  a  prudent  Venetian  father.  The 
story  of  his  quickly  interrupted  studies  there  is  told  by 
Ridolfi  with  every  appearance  of  truthfulnes. 

"Not  many  days  after,  Titian  came  into  the  room 
where  his  pupils  worked,  and  seeing  at  the  foot  of  one 
of  the  benches  certain  papers  upon  which  figures  were 
drawn,  asked  who  had  done  them.  Jacopo,  who  was  the 
author  of  the  same,  afraid  to  have  done  wrong,  timidly 
said  that  they  were  from  his  hand.  Titian  perceiving 
from  these  beginnings  that  the  boy  would  probably  be- 
come a  great  man,  and  give  him  trouble  in  his  supremacy 
of  art,  had  no  sooner  gone  upstairs  and  laid  aside  his 
mantle  than  he  called  Girolamo,  his  pupil  (for  in  human 
breasts  jealousy  works  like  a  canker),  to  whom  he  gave 
orders  to  send  Jacopo  away." 

271 


272  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

"Thus,"  adds  Ridolfi,  "without  hearing  the  reason,  he 
was  left  without  a  master."  The  story  is  an  ugly  one  for 
Titian.  Though  it  is  insinuated  of  other  masters  that  they 
have  regarded  the  progress  of  their  pupils  with  alarm, 
there  has  been  no  such  circumstantial  account  of  profes- 
sional jealousy  in  the  very  budding  of  youthful  powers. 
Vasari,  who  was  a  contemporary  of  both,  and  a  friend  of 
Titian,  though  he  does  not  mention  this  incident,  gives 
in  his  sketch  of  the  younger  painter  a  picture  which  ac- 
cords in  every  respect  with  Ridolfi's  detailed  biography, 
though  the  criticism  of  Vasari  has  all  the  boldness  of  a 
contemporary,  and  that  lively,  amused  appreciation  with 
which  a  calm  looker-on  beholds  the  eccentricities  of  a 
passionate  genius  which  he  admires  but  cannot  under- 
stand. Tintoretto's  violence  and  extravagance  had  be- 
come classical  by  Ridolfi's  time.  They  were  still  half 
ridiculous,  a  thing  to  talk  about  with  shrugged  shoulders 
and  shaken  head,  in  the  days  when  Messer  Giorgio  of 
Florence  had  the  story  told  to  him,  or  perhaps  saw  with 
his  own  eyes  the  terrible  painter  rushing  with  the  force  of 
a  giant  at  his  work. 

In  the  same  city  of  Venice  [says  Vasari,  suddenly  bursting  into  this 
lively  narrative  in  the  midst  of  the  labored  record  of  a  certain  Battista 
Franco  who  was  nobody]  there  lived  and  lives  still  a  painter  called 
Jacopo  Tintoretto,  full  of  worth  and  talent,  especially  in  music  and  in 
playing  divers  instruments,  and  in  other  respects  amiable  in  all  his 
actions;  but  in  matters  of  art,  extravagant,  capricious,  swift,  and  resolute; 
and  the  most  hot-headed  \il  pi-U  terribile  cervelld\  that  ever  has  taken 
painting  in  hand,  as  may  be  seen  in  all  his  works  and  in  the  fantastic 
composition  which  he  puts  together  in  his  own  way,  different  from  the 
use  and  custom  of  other  painters;  surpassing  extravagance  with  new  and 
capricious  inventions,  and  strange  whims  of  intellect;  working  on  the 
spur  of  the  moment  and  without  design,  almost  as  if  art  was  a  mere 
pleasantry.  Sometimes  he  will  put  forth  sketches  as  finished  pictures, 
so  roughly  dashed  in  that  the  strokes  of  the  brush  are  clearly  visible,  as 
if  done  by  accident  or  in  defiance  rather  than  by  design  and  judgment. 
He  has  worked  almost  in  every  style — in  fresco,  in  oil,  portraits  from 
nature,  and  at  every  price;  in  such  away  that,  according  to  their  different 
modes,  he  has  painted  and  still  paints  the  greater  number  of  pictures 
that  are  executed  in  Venice.  And  as  in  his  youth  he  showed  much  un- 
derstanding in  many  fine  works,  if  he  had  known  the  great  principle 
which  there  is  in  nature,  and  aided  it  with  study  and  cool  judgment,  as 
those  have  done  who  have  followed  the  fine  methods  of  their  predecessors, 
and  had  not,  as  he  has  done,  abandoned  this  practice,  he  would  have  been 
one  of  the  best  painters  who  have  ever  been  known  in  Venice — not  that 
it  should  be  understood  by  this  that  he  is  not  actually  a  fine  and  good 
painter,  of  a  vivid,  fanciful,  and  gracious  spirit. 


THE    PAINTERS.  273 

How  this  swift,  imperious,  masterful  genius  was  formed, 
Ridolfi  tells  us  with  much  more  detail  than  is  usual,  and 
with  many  graphic  touches;  himself  waking  up  in  the 
midst  of  his  somewhat  dry  biographies  with  a  quickened 
interest,  and  that  pleasure  in  coming  across  a  vigorous, 
original  human  being  amid  so  many  shadows  which  none 
but  a  writer  of  biographical  sketches  can  fully  know.  No 
one  of  all  our  painters  stands  out  of  the  canvas  like  the 
dyer's  son,  robust  as  his  name,  a  true  type,  perhaps  the 
truest  of  all,  of  his  indomitable  race.  When  he  was 
turned  out  of  Titian's  studio,  "  everyone  may  conceive," 
says  Ridolfi,  "  what  disgust  he  felt  in  his  mind." 

But  such  affronts  become  sometimes  powerful  stimulants  to  the  noble 
spirit,  and  afford  material  for  generous  resolutions.  Jacopo,  excited  by 
indignation,  although  still  but  a  boy,  turned  over  in  his  mind  how  to 
carry  on  the  career  he  had  begun — and  not  allowing  himself  to  be  carried 
away  by  passion,  knowing  the  greatness  of  Titian,  whose  honors  were 
predicted  by  all,  he  considered  in  every  way  how,  by  means  of  studying 
the  works  of  that  master,  and  the  relievos  of  Michael  Angelo  Buonarotti, 
reputed  father  of  design,  he  might  become  a  painter.  Thus,  with  the 
help  of  these  two  divine  lights,  whom  painting  and  sculpture  have  ren- 
dered so  illustrious  in  modern  times,  he  went  forward  toward  his  desired 
end;  well  advised  to  provide  himself  with  secure  escort  to  point  out  the 
path  to  him  in  difficult  passages.  And  in  order  not  to  deviate  from  his 
proposed  course  he  inscribed  the  laws  which  were  to  regulate  his  studies 
upon  the  walls  of  the  cabinet  in  which  he  pursued  them,  as  follows  : 

"  IL  DESEGNO  DI  MICHEL  ANGELO,  E*L  COLORITO  DI  TlTIANO." 

Upon  this  he  set  himself  to  collect  from  all  quarters,  not  without 
great  expense,  casts  of  ancient  marbles  ;  and  procured  from  Florence 
the  miniature  models  done  by  Daniele  Volterrano  from  the  figures  upon 
the  tombs  of  the  Medici,  in  San  Lorenzo  in  that  city  ;  that  is,  the 
"  Aurora,"  the  "  Twilight,"  the  "  Day  "  and  the  "  Night,"  of  which  he 
made  a  special  study  ;  making  drawings  of  them  from  every  side,  and  by 
the  light  of  a  lamp,  in  order,  by  the  strong  shadows  thrown  from  this  light, 
to  form  in  himself  a  powerful  and  effective  manner.  In  the  same  way, 
every  arm,  hand,  and  torso  which  he  could  collect  he  drew  over  and 
over  again  on  colored  paper  with  charcoal,  in  water-colors,  and  every 
other  way  in  which  he  could  teach  himself  what  was  necessary  for  the 
uses  of  art.  .  .  Nor  did  he  give  up  copying  the  pictures  of  Titian, 
upon  which  he  established  an  excellent  method  of  color,  so  that  many 
things  painted  by  him  in  the  flower  of  his  age  retain  all  the  advantages 
of  that  style  to  which  he  added  those  of  much  observation  from  his 
continual  studies,  and  thus  following  the  traces  of  the  best  masters, 
advanced  with  great  steps  toward  perfection. 

We  need  not  follow  Ridolfi  in  his  detailed  account  of 
all  the  experiments  of  the  self-instructed  painter — how 


274  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

he  "departed  from  the  study  of  nature  alone,  which  for 
the  most  part  produces  things  imperfect,  not  conjoining, 
except  rarely,  all  the  parts  of  corresponding  beauty"; 
how  he  improvised  for  himself  a  course  of  anatomy;  how 
he  forestalled  the  lay  figures  of  modern  times  by  models 
of  wax  and  plaster,  upon  which  he  hung  his  draperies; 
how  he  arranged  his  lights,  both  by  day  and  night,  so 
as  to  throw  everything  into  bold  relief.  His  invention 
seems  to  have  been  endless;  in  his  solitary  workshop, 
without  the  aid  of  any  master,  the  young  man  faced  by 
himself  all  the  difficulties  of  his  art,  and  made  for  himself 
many  of  the  aids  which  the  ingenuity  of  later  ages  has 
been  supposed  to  contrive  for  the  advantage  of  the 
student.  Nor  did  the  confine  himself  to  his  studio,  or  to 
those  endless  expedients  for  seeing  his  models  on  every 
side,  and  securing  the  effect  of  them  in  every  light. 

He  also  continued,  in  order  to  practice  himself  in  the  management 
of  color,  to  visit  every  place  where  painting  was  going  on — and  it  is 
said  that,  drawn  by  the  desire  of  work,  he  went  with  the  builders  to 
Cittadella,  where  round  the  rays  of  the  clock  he  painted  various  fanci- 
ful matters,  solely  to  relieve  his  mind  of  some  of  the  innumerable 
thoughts  that  filled  it.  He  went  much  about  also  among  the  painters 
of  lower  pretensions  who  worked  in  the  Piazza  of  San  Marco  on  the 
painters'  benches,  to  learn  their  method  too. 

The  painters'  benches,  le  banche per  depintori,  were,  as 
Ridolfi  tells  us  in  another  place,  under  the  porticoes  in 
the  Piazza,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  privilege 
granted  by  the  Senate,  the  poorer  or  humbler  members 
of  the  profession  plied  their  trade;  painting  on  chests 
and  probably  other  articles  of  furniture  "histories, 
foliage,  grotesques,  and  other  bizarre  things."  They 
would  seem  to  have  worked  in  the  open  air,  unsheltered 
save  by  the  arches  of  the  colonnade,  where  now  tourists 
sip  their  ices,  and  gossiping  politicians  congregate;  and 
to  have  sold  their  wares  as  they  worked,  a  lowly  but  not 
unprofitable  branch  of  an  already  too  much  followed  pro- 
fession. The  depintori  da  banche  seem  to  have  been  a 
recognized  section  of  artists,  and  such  a  painter  as 
Schiavone  was  fain  by  times  in  his  poverty,  we  are  told, 
to  get  a  day's  work  from  a  friend  of  this  humble  order. 
The  dyer's  son,  it  is  evident,  had  no  such  need.  He 
went  but  to  look  on;  to  watch  how  they  got  those  bold 
effects  which  told  upon  the  cassettone  for  a  bourgeois 


274  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

rted  from  the  study  of  nature  alone,  which  for 

the  mo*t  part  produces  things  imperfect,  not  conjoining, 

,  all  the  parts    of  corresponding  beauty"; 

ruprovised  for  himself  a  course  of  anatomy;  how 

restalled  the  lay  figures  of  modern  times  by  models 

.ix  and  plaster,  upon  which  he  hung  his  draperies; 

how  he  arranged   his  lights,  both  by-  day  and  night,  so 

as  to  throw  everything  into  bold  relief.     His  invention 

seems  to    have   been  endless;  in  his  solitary  workshop, 

without  the  aid  of  any  master,  the  young  man  faced  by 

himself  all  the  difficulties  of  his  art,  and  made  for  himself 

many  of  the  aids  which  the  ingenuity  of  later  ages  has 

been   supposed    to   contrive   for  the  advantage  of  the 

student.     Nor  did  the  confine  himself  to  his  studio,  or  to 

those  endless  expedients  for  seeing  his  models  on  every 

side,  and  securing  the  efr  in  in  every  light. 


He  also  continued,  in  ordtr  ;  •   .<•#•  -••*•   tiiisclf  in  the  management 

of  color,  to  visit   every  plai  ».  w»»  going  on  —  and  it  is 

said  that,  drawn  by  the   desire  'i  the  builders  to 

Cittadella,  where  round  the  rays  of  i1  irious  fanci- 

ful matters,  solely    to  reliV-  i  Tierable 

thoughts  that  filled  it  JHF    BRIDGE   OF  SlGHS 
of  lower  pretensions  v 
painters'  benches,  to  learn  their  mc'.h 

The  painters'  benches,  It  As 
Ridolfi  tells  us  in  an.. 
the    Piazza,    where,   accord  in... 
granted  by  the  Senate,  the  p 
of  the  profession  plied  their  trad? 

and    probably    other  articles    of  histories, 

grotesques,  and    other   b;  ungs."     They 

in  to  have  worked  in  the  open  air,  unsheltered 

ie  arches  of  the  colonnade,  where  now  tourists 

and  gossiping  politicians  congregate;  and 

heir  wares  as  they  worked,  a  lowly  but  not 

h  of  an  already  too  much  followed  pro- 

-intori  da   banche  seem  to  have  been  a 

recog  >n    of   artists,    and    such    a   painter  as 

Sciiia-.  times  in  his  poverty,  we  are  told, 

to  get  a  d  om  a  friend  of  this  humble  order. 

The  dyer's  s  evident,  had  no   such   need.     He 

went  but  to  'n  watch  how  they  got  those  bold 

effects   which    :  the   cassettcne  for  a  bouv 


THE    PAINTERS.  275 

bride,  or  the  finer  ornamentation  of  the  coffer  which  was 
to  inclose  the  patrican  lady's  embroideries  of  gold.  He 
scorned  no  instruction,  wherever  he  could  find  it,  this 
determined  student,  whom  Titian  had  refused  to  teach. 

And  it  adds  a  new  feature  to  that  ancient  Venice  which 
was  so  like,  yet  unlike,  the  present  city  of  the  sea,  to 
behold  thus  clearly,  in  the  well-known  scene,  the  painters 
on  their  benches,  with  their  long  panels  laid  out  for  sale, 
and  admiring  groups  lingering  in  their  walk  to  watch 
over  the  busy  artist's  shoulder  the  progress  he  was  mak- 
ing, or  to  cheapen  the  fine  painted  lid  of  a  box  which 
was  wanted  for  some  approaching  wedding.  The  new 
porticoes  were  not  yet  quite  completed,  and  the  chip- 
pings  of  the  stones,  and  all  the  dust  of  the  masons' 
work,  must  have  disturbed  the  painters,  who  were  of  too 
little  account  to  trouble  Sansovino,  the  fine  architect, 
who  was  then  piling  up  the  Procuratie  Nuove  in  those 
dignified  masses,  over  the  heads  of  all  the  gay  and  varied 
life  going  on  below. 

In  those  days  [adds  Ridolfi],  which  may  be  called  the  happy  days 
of  painting,  there  abounded  in  Venice  many  youths  of  fine  genius, 
who,  full  of  talent,  made  great  progress  in  art,  exhibiting  in  emulation 
one  with  another  the  result  of  their  labors  in  the  Merceria  in  order  to 
know  the  opinions  of  the  spectators ;  where  also  Tintoretto,  with  his 
inventions  and  fancies,  did  not  fail  to  show  the  effects  which  God  and 
nature  had  worked  in  him.  And  among  the  things  which  he  thus 
exhibited  were  two  portraits,  one  of  himself  with  a  relievo  in  his  hand, 
the  other  of  his  brother  playing  the  harp,  represented  by  night  with  such 
tremendous  force  [can  si  terribile  maniera\  that  every  beholder  was 
struck  with  amazement ;  at  sight  of  which  a  gentle  bystander,  moved  by 
the  sight  of  so  much  poetic  rapture,  sung  thus : 

"  Si  Tinctorettus  noctes  sic  lucet  in  umbris 
Exorto  faciet  quid  radiante  Die?" 

He  exhibited  also  in  Rialto  a  history  with  many  figures,  the  fame  of 
which  reached  the  ears  of  Titian  himself,  who,  going  up  to  it  in  haste, 
could  not  contain  his  praises,  though  he  wished  no  good  to  his  despised 
scholar  ;  genius  \la  virtu]  being  of  that  condition  that,  even  when  full  of 
envy,  it  cannot  withhold  praise  of  true  merit  though  in  an  enemy." 

With  all  this,  however,  Tintoretto  did  not  prosper  in 
the  exercise  of  his  profession.  He  got  no  commissions 
like  the  other  young  men.  The  cry  was  all  for  Palma 
Vecchio,  for  Pordenone,  for  Bonifazio,  says  Ridolfi,  per- 
haps not  too  exact  in  his  dates;  but  above  all,  for  Titian, 
who  received  most  of  the  commissions  of  importance. 


276  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Titian  himself,  however,  was,  at  the  probable  time 
referred  to,  about  1530,  the  earliest  date  at  which  Tin- 
toretto could  possibly  match  himself  against  the  elder 
painters,  much  pressed  by  Pordenone,  to  whom  the 
Senate  were  anxious  to  hand  over  his  uncompleted  work. 
In  short,  it  is  evident  that  the  brotherhood  of  art  was 
already  suffering  from  too  much  competition.  The 
dyer's  energetic  son,  who  seems  to  have  had  no  pinch 
of  necessity  forcing  him  to  paint  cassettoni  like  the  other 
poor  painters,  moved  heaven  and  earth  with  the  high- 
handed vigor  which  pecuniary  independence  gives,  to 
get  work  for  himself,  and  to  make  himself  known.  If  it 
was  work  which  did  not  pay,  no  matter;  the  determined 
painter  took  it  in  hand  all  the  same;  and  to  poor 
churches  in  need  of  decoration  his  advent  would  be 
a  godsend.  Whether  it  was  an  organ  that  wanted  paint- 
ing, or  the  front  of  a  house,  or  an  altar-piece  for  a  little 
out-of-the-way  chapel,  he  was  ready  for  all.  On  one 
occasion  a  house  which  was  being  built  near  the  Ponte 
dell'  Angelo  seemed  to  him  to  afford  a  fitting  opportu- 
nity for  the  exhibition  of  his  powers.  He  addressed 
himself,  accordingly,  to  the  builders, — with  whom  it 
seems  to  have  been  the  interest  of  the  painters  to  keep 
a  good  understanding,  and  who  were  often  intrusted 
with  the  responsibility  of  ordering  such  frescoes  as 
might  be  required, — who  informed  him  that  the  master 
of  the  house  did  not  want  any  frescoes  painted.  But 
Tintoretto,  intoxicated,  no  doubt,  with  the  prospect  of 
that  fine,  fair  wall  all  to  himself,  to  cover  as  he  would, 
"  determined,  in  one  way  or  another,  to  have  the  painting 
of  it,"  and  proposed  to  the  master-mason  to  paint  the 
house  for  nothing;  for  the  price  of  the  colors  merely. 
This  offer,  being  submitted  to  the  proprietor,  was 
promptly  accepted,  and  the  painter  had  his  way. 

Something  of  the  same  kind  happened,  according  to 
Ridolfi,  in  a  more  serious  undertaking  at  the  church  of 
the  Madonna  dell'  Orto.  With  his  many  thoughts 
"boiling  in  his  fruitful  brain,"  and  with  an  overwhelming 
desire  to  prove  himself  the  boldest  painter  in  the  world, 
he  suddenly  proposed  to  the  prior  of  this  convent  to 
paint  the  two  sides  of  the  chief  chapel  behind  the  great 
altar.  The  frescoed  house-fronts  are  visible  no  longer, 
but  the  two  vast  pictures  in  this  chapel  remain  to  tell 


THE   PAINTERS.  277 

the  tale.  The  spaces  were  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  the 
prior  laughed  at  the  mad  suggestion,  thinking  that  for 
such  a  work  the  whole  year's  income  of  the  convent 
would  scarcely  be  enough;  and,  without  taking  any 
notice  of  the  proposal,  bade  the  painter  good-day.  But 
Tintoretto,  taking  no  heed  of  this  dismissal,  went  on  to 
say  that  he  would  ask  nothing  for  the  work,  but  only  the 
cost  of  the  material,  giving  his  own  time  and  labor  as 
a  gift.  These  words  made  the  prior  pause;  for  who 
could  doubt  that  to  have  two  such  huge  illustrations, 
superior  to  all  around,  without  paying  anything  for 
them,  would  be  balm  to  any  Venetian's  thoughts? 
Finally  the  bargain  was  made  and  the  work  begun,  the 
painter  flinging  himself  upon  it  with  all  his  strength. 
The  two  great  pictures — one  representing  the  return  of 
Moses,  after  receiving  the  Tablets  of  the  Law,  to  find 
that  all  Israel  was  worshiping  the  golden  calf,  the 
other  the  Last  Judgment — were  promptly  executed,  and 
still  remain,  gigantic,  to  the  admiration  of  all  spectators. 
The  fame  of  this  strange  bargain  ran  through  the  city, 
and  attracted  the  attention  of  all  classes.  The  critics 
and  authorities  shook  their  heads  and  lamented  over  the 
decay  of  art  which  had  to  resort  to  such  measures. 
"But  little  cared  Tintoretto  for  the  discussions  of  the 
painters,  proposing  to  himself  no  other  end  than  self- 
satisfaction  and  glory — little  useful  as  these  things  are." 
Both  Vasari  and  Ridolfi  concur  in  the  story  of  a  certain 
competition  at  the  school  of  San  Rocco,  in  which  Tinto- 
retto was  to  contend  with  Schiavone,  Salviati,  and  Zuc- 
chero  for  the  ornamentation  of  a  portion  of  the  ceiling. 
While  the  others  prepared  drawings  and  designs,  this 
tremendous  competitor  had  the  space  measured,  and  with 
all  his  fire  of  rapid  execution,  in  which  nobody  could 
touch  him, — so  that  Vasari  says,  when  the  others  thought 
he  had  scarcely  begun,  he  had  already  finished, — set  to 
work  to  paint  a  picture  of  the  subject  given.  When  the 
day  of  the  competition  arrived  he  conveyed  his  canvas  to 
the  spot,  and  had  it  secretly  fixed  up  in  its  place  and 
covered — and  after  the  other  competitors  had  exhibited 
their  drawings  he,  to  the  consternation  of  all,  snatched 
away  the  linen  which  covered  his  picture  and  revealed  it 
completed.  A  great  uproar,  as  might  be  supposed,  arose. 
What  the  feelings  of  his  rivals  were,  seeing  this  march 


278  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

which  he  had  stolen  upon  them,  may  be  imagined;  but  the 
authorities  of  the  confraternita,  solemnly  assembled  to  sit 
upon  the  merits  of  the  respective  designs,  were  no  less 
moved.  They  told  him  with  indignation  that  they  had 
met  to  inspect  designs  and  choose  one  which  pleased 
them  for  after-execution,  not  to  have  a  finished  picture 
thrust  upon  them.  To  which  Tintoretto  answered  that 
this  was  his  method  of  designing,  that  he  could  not  do 
otherwise,  and  that  designs  and  models  ought  to  be  so 
executed,  in  order  that  no  one  should  be  deceived  as  to 
their  ultimate  effect;  and  finally,  that  if  they  did  not 
wish  to  pay  him  he  willingly  made  a  present  of  the  picture 
to  the  saint.  "  And  thus  saying,"  adds  Vasari,  "  though 
there  was  still  much  opposition,  he  produced  such  an 
effect  that  the  work  is  there  to  this  day."  Ridolfi, 
enlarging  the  tale,  describes  how  the  other  painters, 
stupefied  by  the  sight  of  so  great  a  work  executed  in  so 
few  days  and  so  exquisitely  finished,  gathered  up  their 
drawings  and  told  the  fraternity  that  they  withdrew  from 
the  competition,  Tintoretto  by  the  merit  of  his  work 
having  fairly  won  the  victory.  Notwithstanding  which 
the  heads  of  the  corporation  still  insisted  that  he  should 
take  away  his  picture;  declaring  that  they  had  given  him 
no  commission  to  paint  it,  but  had  desired  only  to  have 
sketches  submitted  to  them  that  they  might  give  the 
work  to  whoever  pleased  them  best.  When,  however,  he 
flung  the  picture  at  their  heads,  so  to  speak,  and  they 
found  themselves  obliged  to  keep  it,  whether  they  liked 
it  or  not  (for  they  could  not  by  their  law  refuse  a  gift 
made  to  their  saint)  milder  counsels  prevailed,  and  finally 
the  greater  part  of  the  votes  were  given  to  Tintoretto, 
and  it  was  decided  that  he  should  be  paid  a  just  price 
for  his  work.  He  was  afterward  formally  appointed  to 
do  all  that  was  necessary  for  the  future  adornment  of  the 
scuola,  and  received  from  the  society  a  grant  of  a  hundred 
ducats  yearly  for  his  whole  life;  he  on  his  side  binding 
himself  to  paint  a  picture  for  them  every  year. 

This  proceeding  proves  the  justice  of  what  Vasari  says, 
Always  with  a  certain  half-amusement.  "These  works, 
and  many  others  which  he  left  behind  him,  were  done  by 
Tintoretto  so  rapidly  that  when  others  scarcely  believed 
him  to  have  begun  he  had  finished;  and  the  wonderful 
thing  was  that  though  he  had  adopted  the  most  extra va- 


THE    PAINTERS.  279 

gant  methods  in  the  world  to  secure  commissions,  yet, 
when  he  failed  to  do  so  by  interest  or  friendship,  he  was 
ready  to  sacrifice  all  gain  and  give  his  work  at  a  small 
price,  or  for  nothing,  so  as  to  force  its  acceptance,  in 
order  that  one  way  or  other  he  should  succeed  in  getting 
the  work  to  do." 

Ridolfi  adds  that  the  Scuola  of  San  Rocco,  when  com- 
pleted, became  in  itself  a  sort  of  Accademia, 

The  resort  of  the  studious  in  painting,  and  in  particular  of  all  the 
foreigners  from  the  other  side  of  the  Alps  who  came  to  Venice  at  that 
time  ;  Tintoretto's  works  serving  as  examples  of  composition,  of  grace, 
and  harmony  of  design,  of  the  management  of  light  and  shade,  and 
force  and  freedom  of  color  ;  and,  in  short,  of  all  that  can  be  called  most 
accurate  and  can  most  exhibit  the  gifts  of  the  ingenious  painter. 

The  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  Alps,  who  follows  his 
predecessors  into  the  echoing  halls  of  San  Rocco,  can 
judge  for  himself  still  of  the  great  works  thus  eulogized, 
and  see  the  picture  which  Tintoretto  fixed  upon  the  roof, 
while  his  rivals  prepared  their  drawings,  and  which  he 
flung,  as  it  were,  at  the  brotherhood  when  they  demurred. 
His  footsteps  are  all  over  Venice,  in  almost  every  church 
and  wherever  pictures  are  to  be  seen — from  the  great 
"  Paradiso  "  in  the  Council  Hall,  the  greatest  picture  in  one 
sense  in  the  world,  down  to  the  humblest  chapels,  parish 
churches,  sacristies,  there  is  scarcely  an  opportunity 
which  he  has  neglected  to  make  himself  seen  and  known. 
According  to  the  evidence  of  the  historians  of  art,  Titian 
never  forgave  the  boy  whose  greatness  he  had  foreseen, 
and  there  is  at  least  one  subject,  that  of  the  Presentation, 
which  the  two  painters  have  treated  with  a  certain  simi- 
larity, with  what  one  cannot  but  feel  must,  in  the  person 
of  the  younger  at  least,  have  been  an  intended  rivalry. 
These  two  splendid  examples  of  art  remain,  if  not  side  by 
side,  as  the  pictures  of  Turner  hang  beside  the  serene 
splendor  of  the  Claudes  in  our  own  National  Gallery, 
yet  with  an  emulation  not  dissimilar,  which  in  some 
minds  will  always  militate  against  the  claims  of  the  artist 
whose  aim  is  to  prove  that  he  is  the  better  man.  The 
same  great  critic  who  has  been  the  life-long  champion  of 
Turner  against  the  claims  of  his  long  dead  rival  has  in 
like  manner  espoused  those  of  the  later  master  in  Venice. 
And  in  respect  to  these  particular  pictures,  they  are,  we 


280  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

believe,  a  sort  of  test  of  art  understanding  by  which  the 
Illuminati  judge  the  capacity  of  the  less  instructed  accord- 
ing to  the  preference  they  give.  However  that  may  be, 
Tintoretto's  greatness,  the  wonderful  sweep  and  grandeur 
which  his  contemporaries  call  stravagante,  the  lavish 
power  with  which  he  treats  every  subject — nothing  too 
great,  too  laborious,  for  his  hand — cannot  fail  to  impress 
the  beholder.  He  works  like  a  giant,  flinging  himself 
abroad  "upon  the  wings  of  all  the  winds";  with  some- 
thing of  the  immortal  Bottom  in  him,  determined  to  do 
the  lion  too,  at  which  a  keen  observer  like  Vasari  cannot 
but  smile;  and  yet  no  clown  but  a  demi-god,  full  of 
power,  if  also  full  of  emulation  and  determination  to  be 
the  best.  But  the  man  is  still  more  remarkable  than  his 
work,  and  to  the  lover  of  human  nature  more  interesting 
— an  ideal  Venetian,  rather  of  the  fifteenth  than  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  in  his  imperious  independence  and 
self-will  and  resolution  to  own  no  master.  All  the  arro- 
gance of  the  well-to-do  citizen  is  in  him;  he  who  will 
take  the  wall  of  any  man,  and  will  not  yield  a  jot  or  tittle 
of  his  own  pretensions  for  the  most  splendid  gallant  or 
the  greatest  genius  in  Christendom;  one  who  is  not  to  be 
trifled  with  or  condescended  to — nor  will  submit  to  any 
parleying  about  his  work  or  undervaluing  of  his  manhood. 
No  fine  patrician,  no  company  even  of  his  townsfolk,  he 
was  resolved  should  play  patron  to  him.  He  did  not 
require  their  money — one  large  ingredient  in  such  a 
character;  he  could  afford  to  do  without  them,  to  fling 
his  pictures  at  their  heads  if  need  were,  to  execute  their 
commissions  for  love,  or,  at  least,  for  glory,  not  for  their 
pay,  or  anything  they  could  do  for  him;  but  all  the  same 
not  to  be  shut  out  from  any  competition  that  was  going, 
not  to  be  thrust  aside  by  the  foolish  preference  of  the 
employer  for  any  other  workman;  determined  that  he, 
and  he  only,  should  have  every  great  piece  of  work  there 
was  to  do. 

Ridolfi,  who  lingers  upon  every  incident  with  the  pleas- 
ure of  an  enthusiast,  and  who  is  entirely  on  Tintoretto's 
side  against  Titian  and  all  his  fine  company  of  critics, 
tells  how  the  painter  once  inquired — with  the  ttafve&of&n 
ignorance  which  he  was  rather  proud  to  show  of  all  court 
practices  and  finery — what  was  the  meaning  of  a  certain 
act  which  he  saw  performed  by  King  Henry  of  France 


THE    PAINTERS.  281 

on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  Venice.  Tintoretto  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  paint  a  portrait  of  the  king,  with  a 
sort  of  republican  sentiment,  half  admiration,  half  con- 
tempt, for  that  strange  animal,  and  in  order  to  do  this 
threw  aside  his  toga  (which  his  wife  had  persuaded  him 
to  wear,  though  he  had  no  real  right  to  that  patrician 
garment),  and,  putting  on  the  livery  of  the  doge,  mingled 
in  the  retinue  by  which  his  majesty  was  attended,  and  hung 
about  in  the  antechambers,  marking  the  king's  individ- 
uality, his  features  and  ways,  until  his  presence  and 
object  were  discovered,  and  he  was  admitted  to  have  a 
formal  sitting.  The  painter  observed  that  from  time  to 
time  certain  personages  were  introduced  to  the  king, 
who  touched  them  lightly  on  the  shoulder  with  his  sword, 
adding  divers  ceremonies.  What  did  it  mean,  he  asked 
with  simplicity,  probably  somewhat  affected,  as  the 
courtier  chamberlain,  who  was  his  friend,  approached 
him  in  all  the  importance  of  office?  The  Polonius  of  the 
moment  explained  with  pompous  fullness,  and  added  that 
Tintoretto  must  prepare  to  go  through  the  same  cere- 
mony in  his  own  person,  since  the  king  intended  to  make 
a  knight  of  him.  Ridolfi  says  that  the  painter  modestly 
declined  the  honor — more  probably  strode  off  with  sturdy 
contempt  and  a  touch  of  unrestrained  derision;  very 
certain  that,  whatever  Titian  and  the  others  might  think, 
no  king's  touch  upon  his  shoulder,  or  patent  of  rank  con- 
ferred, could  make  any  difference  to  him! 

And  notwithstanding  that  all  the  historians  are  anxious 
to  record,  as  a  set-off  against  these  wild  ways,  the  fact 
that  he  was  very  amiable  in  his  private  life,  and  fond  of 
music,  and  to  suonare  il  liuto,  here  is  a  little  story  which 
makes  us  feel  that  it  must  have  been  somewhat  alarming 
if  he  had  any  grievance  against  one,  to  be  left  alone  with 
Tintoretto.  On  some  occasion  not  explained,  the  painter 
met  Pietro  Aretino,  the  infamous  but  much-courted  man 
of  letters,  who  was  the  center  of  the  fine  company,  the 
friend  of  Titian,  the  representive  of  luxury  and  corrup- 
tion in  Venice,  and  invited  him  to  his  house,  under  pre- 
tense of  painting  his  portrait. 

When  Aretino  had  come  in  and  disposed  himself  to  sit,  Tintoretto 
with  much  violence  drew  forth  a  pistol  from  under  his  vest.  Aretino, 
in  alarm,  fearing  that  he  was  about  to  be  brought  to  account,  cried  out, 
"  What  are  you  doing,  Jacopo  ?  "  "I  am  going  to  take  your  measure, 


282  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

said  the  other.  And  beginning  to  measure  from  the  head  to  the  feet, 
at  last  said  sedately,  "Your  height  is  two  pistols  and  a  half."  "Oh, 
you  mad  fellow!  "  cried  the  other,  recovering  his  courage.  But  Aretino 
spoke  ill  of  Tintoretto  no  more. 

Perhaps  it  is  the  absence  of  what  we  may  call  the 
literary  faculty  in  these  great  painters  that  makes  their 
appeal  so  much  more  exclusively  to  the  connoisseur  in 
art,  to  the  critic  qualified  to  judge  on  technical  and 
classical  grounds, — to  the  expert,  in  short, — than  to  the 
amateur  who  seeks  in  pictures  and  in  books  the  sympathy 
of  humanity,  the  fine  suggestion  which  rouses  the  im- 
agination, the  touch  that  goes  to  the  heart.  The  earlier 
masters,  perhaps  in  all  regions  (after  they  have  a  little 
surmounted  the  difficulties  of  pictorial  expression), 
possess  this  gift  in  higher  development  than  their  suc- 
cessors, who,  carrying  art  to  its  perfection  of  design  and 
color,  not  unusually  leave  the  heart  and  the  imagination 
of  the  spectator  altogether  out  of  the  reckoning.  The 
Bellini  and  Carpaccio  are  all  strong  in  this  impulse,  which 
is  common  to  poet  and  story-teller,  whether  in  the  graver 
paths  of  history  or  in  the  realms  of  fiction.  They 
appeal  to  something  in  us  which  is  more  than  the  eye; 
they  never  lose  touch  of  human  sentiment,  in  the  Venetian 
streets  all  full  of  a  hundred  histories;  in  the  legends  of 
love  and  martyrdom  which  are  of  universal  potency;  in  the 
sweetest  ideal  of  life,  the  consecrated  women  and  chil- 
dren. Ursula  wrapped  in  maiden  sleep,  with  the  winged 
angel  knight  touching  the  sweet  edge  of  her  dreams;  or 
throned  in  a  simple  majesty  of  youth  and  sacred  purity 
and  love  divine,  the  Mother  holding  up  to  men  and 
angels  the  Hope  and  Saviour  of  mankind;  or  with  a 
friendly  glow  of  sympathetic  nature  diffused  all  round, 
the  group  of  neighbors  gazing  at  the  procession  in  the 
Piazza,  the  women  kneeling  on  the  edge  of  the  water- 
way to  see  the  sacred  relic  go  by.  Such  visions  do  not 
come  to  us  from  the  magnificence  of  Titian  or  the 
gigantic  power,  stravagante,  of  Tintoretto.  A  few  noble 
heads  of  senators  are  all  that  haunt  our  memory,  or 
enter  into  our  friendship  from  the  hand  of  the  latter 
painter;  and  even  they  are  too  stern  sometimes,  too 
authoritative  and  conscious  of  their  dignity,  that  we 
should  venture  to  employ  such  a  word  as  friendship. 
Titian's  senators  are  more  suave,  and  he  leaves  us  now 


THE   PAINTERS.  283 

and  then  a  magnificent  fair  lady  to  fill  us  with  admiration 
— but  except  one  or  two  of  such  fine  images,  how  little 
is  there  that  holds  possession  of  our  love  and  liking,  and 
as  we  turn  away,  insists  on  being  remembered!  Not 
anything  certainly  in  the  great  "Assumption,"  splendid 
as  it  is,  and  perfect  as  it  may  be.  Light,  shade,  color, 
science,  and  beauty,  are  all  there,  but  human  feeling  has 
been  left  out  in  the  magnificent  composition.  I  return 
for  my  part  with  a  great  and  tender  pleasure  to  the 
silence  and  vast  solemnity  of  the  Frari,  where  that  one 
young  serious  face  in  the  great  Pesaro  picture  looks  out 
of  the  canvas  suddenly,  wistfully,  asking  the  meaning  of 
many  things,  into  the  spectator's  heart — with  a  feeling 
that  this  is  about  the  one  thing  which  the  great  Titian 
has  ever  said  to  me. 

It  is  impossible  and  unnecessary  for  us,  standing  in 
the  place  of  the  unlearned,  to  go  into  full  detail  of  the 
painters  of  Venice,  or  discuss  the  special  qualities  of 
Cima  in  all  his  silvery  sweetness,  or  the  gentle  Palma,  or 
the  bolder  Pordenone,  or  the  long  list  of  others  who 
through  many  glowing  and  beautiful  pieces  of  painting 
conducted  art  from  perfection  to  decay.  The  student 
knows  where  to  find  all  that  can  be  said  on  the  subject, 
which  has  indeed  produced  an  entire  literature  of  its 
own.  When  all  is  said  that  can  be  said  about  the  few 
inaccurate  dates,  and  mistaken  stories,  with  which  he  is 
credited,  Messer  Giorgio  of  Florence,  the  graphic  and 
delightful  Vasari,  remains  always  the  best  guide.  But, 
alas!  he  was  not  a  Venetian,  and  his  histories  of  the 
painters  of  Venice  are  generally  modified  by  the  reflec- 
tion, more  or  less  disguised,  that  if  they  had  but  had 
the  luck  to  be  Florentines  they  might  have  been  great: 
or  at  least  must  have  been  much  greater — even  the  great 
Titian  himself. 

We  have  ventured  to  speak  of  some  of  the  works  of 
Titian  as  decorative  art.  The  productions  of  the  last 
great  painter  whose  name  will  naturally  recur  to  every 
lover  of  Venice,  the  splendid  and  knightly  Paul  Veronese, 
claim  this  character  still  more  distinctively — as  if  the  great 
republic,  unapproachable  in  so  many  ways,  had  seized  a 
new  splendor,  and  instead  of  tapestries  or  humbler  mural 
adornments,  had  contented  herself  with  nothing  less  than 
the  hand  of  genius  to  ornament  her  walls.  These  wonder- 


284  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

ful  halls  and  balconies,  those  great  banquets  spread  as 
upon  a  more  lordly  dais  of  imagination  and  exquisite 
skill,  those  widening  vistas  of  columns  and  balustrades 
thronged  with  picturesque  retainers,  the  tables  piled 
with  glowing  fruit  and  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  in  a 
mimic  luxury  more  magnificent  than  any  fact,  transport 
the  spectator  with  a  sense  of  greatness,  of  wealth,  of 
width  and  space,  and  ever  beautiful  adornments,  which 
perhaps  impairs  our  appreciation  of  the  art  of  the  painter 
in  its  purer  essence.  No  king  ever  enlarged  and  furnished 
and  decorated  his  palace  like  the  Veronese;  the  fine 
rooms  in  which  these  pictures  are  hung  are  but  ante- 
chambers to  the  grander  space  which  opens  beyond  in 
the  painter's  canvas.  It  is  scarcely  enough,  though 
magnificent  in  its  way,  to  see  them  hanging  like  other 
pictures  in  a  gallery,  among  the  works  of  other  masters — 
for  then  their  purpose  is  lost,  and  half  their  grandeur. 
The  "  Marriage  of  Cana"  is  but  a  picture  in  the  Louvre; 
but  in  Venice,  as  we  walk  into  such  a  presence  and  see 
the  splendid  party  serenely  banqueting,  with  the  sky 
opening  into  heavenly  blue  behind  them,  the  servants 
bringing  in  the  courses,  appearing  and  disappearing 
behind  the  columns,  the  carpet  flung  in  all  its  Oriental 
wealth  of  color  upon  the  cool  semi-transparence  of  the 
marble  steps,  the  room,  of  which  this  forms  one  side,  is 
transformed  forever.  Were  it  the  humblest  chamber  in 
the  world,  it  would  be  turned  into  a  palace  before  our 
eyes.  Never  were  there  such  noble  and  princely  decora- 
tions; they  widen  the  space,  they  fill  the  far-withdrawing 
anterooms  with  groups  worthy  the  reception  of  a  king. 
Mr.  Ruskin  gives  a  lively  account,  from  the  records  of 
Venice,  of  how  Messer  Paolo  was  had  up  before  the 
Inquisition,  no  less,  on  the  charge  of  having  introduced 
unbecoming  and  undignified  figures,  negro  pages,  and 
even  little  dogs,  into  pictures  meant  for  the  church — 
where,  indeed,  such  details  were,  no  doubt,  out  of  place. 
But  Paul  of  Verona  was  not  the  man  to  paint  religious 
pictures,  having  no  turn  that  way.  He  is  a  painter  for 
palaces,  not  for  churches.  Mind  of  man  never  devised 
presence  chamber  or  splendid  hall  that  he  could  not  have 
rendered  more  splendid.  Notwithstanding  the  promi- 
nence of  the  negro  pages,  and  many  an  attendant  beside, 
his  lords  of  the  feast  are  all  the  finest  gentlemen,  his 


THE   PAINTERS.  285 

women  courtly  and  magnificent.  It  is  the  best  of  company 
that  sits  at  that  table,  whether  the  wine  is  miraculous  or 
only  the  common  juice  of  the  grape;  even  should  the 
elaboration  of  splendid  dress  be  less  than  that  which 
Titian  loves.  The  effect  is  a  more  simple  one  than  his, 
the  result  almost  more  complete.  So  might  the  walls 
of  heaven  be  painted,  the  vestibules  and  the  corridors: 
still  leaving,  as  poor  Florentine  Andrea  sighs  in  Mr. 
Browning's  poem,  "  four  great  walls  in  the  New  Jeru- 
salem "  for  a  higher  emulation, 

"  For  Leonard,  Raphael,  Agnolo,  and  me" 

to  try  their  best  upon. 

The  fashion  of  fresco  painting  on  the  outsides  of  the 
houses  still  continued,  and  was  largely  practiced  also  by 
Paolo  Veronese;  but  let  us  hope  that  the  far  more  splen- 
did internal  decoration  supplied  by  his  pictures  had  some 
effect,  along  with  the  good  sense  native  to  the  Venetians 
and  their  sound  practical  faculty,  in  putting  an  end  to  so 
great  a  waste  of  power  and  genius  as  these  outside  pict- 
ures proved.  They  were  already  fading  out  by  Paolo's 
time,  sinking  into  pale  shadows  of  what  they  had  been, 
those  pictured  images  with  which  Giorgione  and  young 
Titian  had  made  the  ugly  German  factory  for  a  moment 
glorious:  and  the  art  which  had  been  so  superb  in  their 
hands  had  sunk  also  to  the  execution  of  pictured  colon- 
nades and  feigned  architecture,  such  as  still  lingers  about 
Italy,  not  to  anyone's  advantage.  Upon  such  things  as 
these,  false  perspectives  and  fictitious  grand  facades  with 
imitation  statues  in  unreal  relief,  even  Paolo  spent  much 
of  his  time,  though  he  could  do  so  much  better.  And 
thus  the  fashion  wore  itself  into  poverty  and  decadence, 
as  fashions  have  a  way  of  doing,  going  out  in  ridicule  as 
well  as  in  decay. 


PART  IV.— MEN  OF  LETTERS. 
CHAPTER   I. 

THE    GUEST    OF    VENICE. 

NOTHING  can  be  more  difficult  to  explain  than  the 
manner  in  which  the  greater  gifts  of  human  genius  are 
appropriated — to  some  regions  lavishly,  to  some  scarcely 
at  all,  notwithstanding  that  the  intellectual  qualities  of 
the  race  may  be  as  good,  possibly  indeed  may  reach  a 
higher  average  in  the  one  neglected  than  in  the  one 
favored.  We  fear  that  no  theory  that  has  ever  been  in- 
vented will  suffice  to  explain  why  the  great  form  of 
Dante,  like  a  mountain  shadowing  over  the  whole  penin- 
sula, should  have  been  given  to  Florence,  and  nothing  to 
Venice,  not  so  much  as  a  minor  minstrel  to  celebrate  the 
great  deeds  of  the  republic  which  was  the  most  famous 
and  the  greatest  of  all  Italian  republics,  and  which  main- 
tained its  independence  when  all  its  rivals  and  sisters  lost 
theirs.  Petrarch,  too,  was  a  Florentine  by  origin,  only 
not  born  there  because  of  one  of  the  accidents  of  her 
turbulent  history.  Boccaccio,  the  first  of  Italian  story- 
tellers, belonged  to  the  same  wonderful  city.  But  to 
Venice  on  her  seas,  with  the  charm  of  a  great  poem  in 
every  variation  of  her  aspect,  with  the  harmonies  of  the 
sea  in  her  very  streets,  not  one.  We  have  to  find  her 
reflected  in  the  mild  eyes  of  a  temporary  visitor,  in  the 
learned  and  easy  yet  formal  talk  of  the  friendly  canon, 
half  French,  half  Italian,  who,  all  the  vagaries  of  his 
youth  over,  came,  elderly  and  famous,  and  never  without 
an  eye  to  his  own  comfort  and  interest,  to  visit  the  great 
Mistress  of  the  Seas,  taking  refuge  there,  "in  this  city, 
true  home  of  the  human  race,"  from  trouble  and  war  and 
pestilence  outside.  The  picture  given  by  Dom  Fran- 
cesco, the  great  poet,  laureate  of  all  the  world,  the  friend 
of  kings  and  princes,  is  in  some  ways  very  flattering  to 

286 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  287 

our  city.  He  was  received  with  great  honor  there  as 
everywhere,  and  found  himself  in  the  center  of  an  en- 
lightened and  letter-loving  society.  But  his  residence 
was  only  temporary,  and,  save  Petrarch,  no  poet  of  a 
high  order  has  ever  associated  himself  with  the  life  of 
Venice,  much  less  owed  his  birth  or  breeding  to  her. 
The  reader  will  not  fail  to  recollect  another  temporary 
and  recent  visitor,  whose  traces  are  still  to  be  seen  about 
Venice,  and  whose  record  remains,  though  not  such  as 
any  lover  of  poetry  would  love  to  remember,  in  all  the 
extravagance  and  ostentatious  folly  natural  to  the  char- 
acter of  Lord  Byron;  but  that  was  in  the  melancholy 
days  when  Venice  had  almost  ceased  to  be.  Save  for 
such  visitors  and  for  certain  humble  breathings  of  the 
nameless,  such  as  no  homely  village  is  entirely  without, 
great  Venice  has  no  record  in  poetry.  Her  powerful, 
vigorous,  subtle,  and  imaginative  race  has  never  learned 
how  to  frame  the  softest  dialect  of  Italy,  the  most  musi- 
cal of  tongues,  into  any  linked  sweetness  of  verse.  The 
reason  is  one  which  we  cannot  pretend  to  divine,  and 
which  no  law  of  development  or  natural  selection  seems 
capable  of  accounting  for. 

Petrarch  was  not  only  a  poet,  but  a  patriot  in  the 
larger  sense  of  the  word — a  sense  scarcely  known  in  his 
day.  Perhaps  the  circumstances  that  he  was  an  exile 
from  his  birth,  and  that  his  youth  had  been  sheltered  in 
a  neighboring  country,  from  which  he  could  see  in  all  the 
force  of  perspective  the  madness  of  those  Italian  states 
which  spent  all  their  strength  in  tearing  each  other  in 
pieces,  had  elevated  him  to  that  pitch  of  enlightenment, 
unknown  to  the  fierce  inhabitants  of  Genoa,  Venice,  and 
Florence,  each  determined  to  the  death  that  his  own  city 
should  be  the  first.  Petrarch  is  worthy  of  a  higher  niche 
for  this  than  for  his  poetry,  a  civic  wreath  above  his 
laurel.  His  first  appearance  in  connection  with  Venice 
is  in  a  most  earnest  and  eloquent  ietter  addressed  to  his 
friend  Andrea  Dandolo,  the  first  serious  chronicler  of 
Venice,  and  a  man  learned  in  all  the  knowledge  of  the 
time,  whom  the  poet,  who  probably  had  made  acquaint- 
ance with  the  noble  Venetian  at  learned  Padua,  or  in 
some  neighboring  court  or  castle  whither  scholars  and 
wits  loved  to  resort,  addresses  with  an  impassioned 
pleading  for  peace.  One  of  the  endless  wars  with  Genoa 


288  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

was  then  beginning,  and  Petrarch  adduces  every  argu- 
ment, and  appeals  to  every  motive — above  all  "  Italian 
as  I  am,"  to  the  dreadful  folly  which  drives  to  arms 
against  each  other 

the  two  most  powerful  peoples,  the  two  most  flourishing  cities,  the 
two  most  splendid  stars  of  Italy,  which,  to  my  judgment,  the  great 
mother  nature  has  placed  here  and  there,  posted  at  the  doorway  of  the 
Italian  race.  Italians,  for  the  ruin  of  Italians,  invoke  the  help  of 
barbarous  allies  [he  adds].  And  what  hope  of  aid  can  remain  to  un- 
happy Italy  when,  as  if  it  were  a  small  matter  to  see  her  sons  turn 
against  her,  she  is  overrun  also  by  strangers  called  by  them  to  help  in 
the  parricide  ? 

But  not  even  the  enlighted  Dandolo,  the  scholar  doge, 
thought  of  Italy  in  those  days,  and  though  the  poet's 
protest  does  not  seem  to  have  alienated  his  friend,  it  was 
entirely  without  avail.  Two  years  after,  in  1353,  an  em- 
bassy, of  which  Petrarch  was  one  of  the  principal  mem- 
bers, was  sent  from  Milan,  on  the  part  of  the  Visconti,  to 
attempt  to  negotiate  a  peace.  This  was  not  his  first  visit 
to  Venice,  and  it  cannot  have  been  an  agreeable  one. 
One  of  the  chroniclers  indeed  says  that  much  as  Doge 
Andrea  loved  the  poet,  and  strong  as  was  the  attraction 
of  such  a  visitor  to  a  man  of  his  tastes,  the  occasion  was 
so  painful  that  he  refused  to  see  Petrarch.  It  does  not 
seem,  however,  that  this  was  the  case,  for  the  poet,  in  a 
subsequent  letter  to  Dandolo,  reminds  the  doge  of  his 
visit  and  its  object.  After  two  battles, — after  the  Helles- 
pont and  the  Ionian  sea  had  twice  been  reddened  by 
such  a  lake  of  blood  as  might  well  extinguish  the  flames 
of  cruel  war, — "as  mediator  of  peace,  I  was  sent  by  our 
greatest  among  great  Italians  to  you,  the  most  wise  of 
all  the  doges,  and  to  your  citizens.  Such  and  so  many 
things  I  said  in  the  council  over  which  you  presided, 
such  and  so  many  in  your  private  rooms,  as  must  still 
remain  in  your  ears.  But  all  was  in  vain;  for  neither 
your  great  men,  nor,  what  was  more  wonderful,  yourself, 
could  be  moved  by  any  salutary  counsel  or  just  prayer — 
the  impetuosity  of  war,  the  clamor  of  arms,  the  remains 
of  ancient  hatred  having  closed  the  way."  The  letter  in 
which  Petrarch  repeats  this  fruitless  attempt  at  mediation 
was  written  in  May,  1354,  a  year  after,  and  still  with  the 
same  object.  The  Venetians  had  been  conquerers  on 
the  first  occasion,  but  the  fortune  of  war  had  now  turned, 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  289 

and  in  September  of  the  same  year  Doge  Andrea  died, 
just  before  one  of  those  final  and  crushing  defeats  which 
Venice  over  and  over  again  had  to  submit  to  from  Genoa, 
without  ever  ceasing  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of 
beginning  again. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  several  years  after  that  it 
occurred  to  the  much-wandering  poet  to  fix  his  habitation 
in  Venice.  This  was  in  the  latter  portion  of  Petrarch's 
life.  Romance  and  Laura  had  long  departed  out  of  it. 
He  was  already  the  crowned  poet,  acknowledged  the 
greatest,  and,  save  for  an  occasional  sonnet  or  two,  cul- 
tivated divine  poetry  no  more.  He  was  a  person  of  ease 
and  leisure,  much  courted  by  the  most  eminent  persons 
in  Europe,  accustomed  to  princely  tables  and  to  familiar 
intercourse  with  every  magnate  within  reach ;  accustomed, 
too,  to  consider  his  own  comfort  and  keep  danger  and 
trouble  at  a  distance.  Disorder  and  war  and  pestilence 
drove  him  from  one  place  to  another — from  Milan  to  Padua, 
from  Padua  to  Venice.  He  had  fulfilled  many  dignified 
missions  as  ambassador  to  various  courts,  and  he  was 
not  a  man  who  could  transfer  himself  from  one  city  to 
another  without  observation.  It  would  seem  that  when, 
driven  by  the  fear  of  the  plague,  and  by  the  horror  of 
those  continued  conflicts  which  were  rending  Italy  from 
day  to  day — that  Italy  which  he  was  almost  alone  in  con- 
sidering as  one  country — he  turned  his  eyes  toward  Venice, 
it  was  with  some  intention  of  making  it  his  permanent 
home;  for  the  preliminary  negotiations  into  which  he 
entered  show  a  desire  to  establish  himself  for  which  he 
does  not  seem  to  have  taken  any  such  precautions  before. 
One  of  the  best  known  of  all  facts  in  the  history  of  litera- 
ture is  that  the  poet  left  his  library  to  the  republic,  and 
the  unworthy  manner  in  which  that  precious  bequest  was 
received.  But  it  has  not  been  noted  with  equal  distinct- 
ness that  the  prudent  poet  made  this  gift,  not  as  a  legacy 
because  of  his  love  for  Venice,  which  is  the  light  in  which 
it  has  generally  been  regarded,  but  as  an  offer  of  eventual 
advantage  in  order  to  procure  from  the  authorities  a  fit 
lodging  and  reception  for  himself.  This,  however,  is 
the  true  state  of  the  case.  He  puts  it  forth  in  a  letter 
to  his  friend  and  agent  Benintendi,  the  chancellor  of  the 
republic,  in  whose  hands  it  would  seem  he  had  placed  his 
cause.  A  certain  plausible  and  bland  insistence  upon 


290  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

the  great  benefit  to  Venice  of  a  public  library,  of  which 
the  poet's  books  should  be  the  foundation,  discreetly 
veils  the  important  condition  that  the  poet's  own  interests 
should  be  served  in  the  meantime. 

If  the  effort  succeeds  [he  says] ,  I  am  of  opinion  that  your  posterity 
and  your  republic  will  owe  to  you,  if  not  their  glory,  yet  at  least  the 
opening  of  the  way  to  glory.  And  oh  [he  adds  piously]  !  if  it  had  but 
been  thought  of  when  the  commonwealth  was  governed  by  that  most 
holy  spirit  to  whom,  as  you  who  knew  him  well  will  understand,  it  would 
have  afforded  so  much  delight.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  doubt  that  even 
in  the  heavens  he  is  glad  of  our  design,  and  anxiously  awaits  its  success. 
I  believe  also  that,  looking  down  lovingly  without  a  grudge,  it  will 
greatly  please  him,  having  himself  earned  such  glory  and  honor  as  no 
other  Venetian  doge  did  before  him,  that  the  glory  of  instituting  a  public 
library  should  have  been  reserved  for  the  fourth  of  his  successors,  a  man 
also  so  excellent,  a  noble  doge  and  zealous  of  the  public  good. 

This  invocation  of  the  sainted  shade  of  Andrea  Dan- 
dolo,  the  much-lamented  doge,  to  sanctify  an  effort  the 
immediate  object  of  which  was  the  acquisition  of  a  hand- 
some house  for  Dom  Francesco  the  poet,  has  a  flavor  of 
Tartuffe,  or  at  least  of  Pecksniff,  which  may  make  the 
reader  smile.  It  was,  however,  a  perfectly  legitimate 
desire,  and  no  doubt  Petrarch's  books  were  valuable,  and 
the  suggestion  of  a  public  library  an  admirable  thing; 
and  it  was  to  the  credit  of  the  republic  that  the  bargain 
was  at  once  made,  and  the  poet  got  his  house,  a  palace 
upon  the  Riva  degli  Schiavoni — the  Palazzo  delle  due 
Torri,  now  no  longer  in  existence,  but  which  is  com- 
memorated by  an  inscription  upon  the  house  which 
replaces  it.  It  was  situated  at  the  corner  of  the  Ponte 
del  Sepolcro.  In  a  curious  illumination,  taken  from  a 
manuscript  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  the  two  towers  are 
visible,  rising  from  among  the  picturesque  roofs,  over 
the  quay  from  which  the  Eastern  merchants,  the  Poli, 
are  to  be  seen  setting  out  upon  their  voyage. 

This  was  in  the  year  1362.  He  had  visited  Venice  in 
his  youth,  when  a  student  at  Bologna.  He  had  returned 
in  the  fullness  of  his  fame  as  the  ambassador  of  the  Prince 
of  Milan  to  negotiate  peace  with  Genoa,  though  the 
attempt  was  vain.  He  was  now  approaching  his  sixtieth 
year,  full  of  indignation  and  sorrow  for  the  fate  of  his 
country,  denouncing  to  earth  and  heaven  the  horrible 
bands  of  mercenaries  who  devastated  Italy,  bringing 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  2pl 

rapine  and  pestilence — and  for  his  own  part  intent  upon 
finding  a  peaceful  home,  security,  and  health.  His  letters 
afford  us  a  wonderfully  real  glimpse  of  the  conditions  of 
the  time.  In  one  of  them,  written  soon  after  his  settle- 
ment in  Venice,  to  an  old  friend,  he  defends  himself  for 
having  fallen  into  the  weakness  of  age,  the  laudator  tem- 
poris  acti.  He  reviews  in  this  epistle  the  scenes  in  which 
his  youth  and  that  of  his  friend  were  passed;  the  peace, 
the  serenity,  the  calm  of  these  early  days;  comparing 
them  with  the  universal  tumult  and  misery  of  the  existing 
time ;  denying  that  the  change  was  in  himself  or  his  ideas, 
and  painting  a  dismal  picture  of  the  revolution  every- 
where— the  wars,  the  bands  of  assassins  and  robbers 
let  loose  on  the  earth,  the  universal  wretchedness. 
"This  same  city,"  he  adds,  "from  which  I  write,  this 
Venice  which,  by  the  far-sightedness  of  her  citizens  and 
by  the  advantage  of  her  natural  position,  appears  more 
powerful  and  tranquil  than  any  other  part  of  the  world, 
though  quiet  and  serene,  is  no  longer  festive  and  gay  as 
she  once  was,  and  wears  an  aspect  very  different  from 
that  prosperity  and  gladness  which  she  presented  when 
first  I  came  hither  with  my  tutor  from  Bologna."  But 
these  words  are  very  different  from  the  phrases  he  em- 
ploys in  speaking  of  other  cities.  Venice,  as  has  been 
seen  in  previous  chapters,  had  trouble  enough  with  the 
mercenary  armies  of  the  time  when  they  were  in  her  pay; 
but  she  was  safe  on  her  sea  margin  with  wide  lagoons 
around  her,  unapproachable  by  the  heavy-mailed  troopers 
who  might  appear  any  day  under  the  walls  of  a  rich  inland 
city  and  put  her  to  sack  or  ransom.  With  all  the  force 
of  his  soul  the  poet  loathed  these  barbarous  invaders,  the 
terror  of  his  life  and  the  scourge  of  Italy,  into  whose 
hands  the  Italian  states  themselves  had  placed  weapons 
for  their  own  destruction ;  and  it  is  with  a  sense  of  intense 
repose  and  relief  that  he  settles  down  in  his  stately  house 
looking  out  upon  the  wide  harbor,  upon  San  Giorgio 
among  its  trees,  and  the  green  line  of  the  Lido,  and  all 
the  winding  watery  ways,  well  defended  by  fort  and 
galley,  which  led  to  the  sea.  The  bustle  of  the  port 
under  his  windows,  the  movement  of  the  ships,  would 
seem  at  once  to  have  caught,  with  the  charm  of  their 
novelty  and  wonder,  his  observant  eyes.  Shortly  after 
his  settlement  on  the  Riva  he  wrote  a  letter  full  of  wise 


292  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

and  serious  advice  to  another  friend,  who  had  been 
appointed  secretary  to  the  Pope — an  office  not  long  before 
offered  to  himself.  But  in  the  very  midst  of  his  counsels, 
quoting  Aristotle  on  the  question  of  art,  he  bursts  forth 
into  comment  upon  la  nautica,  to  which,  he  says,  "after 
justice,  is  owing  the  wonderful  prosperity  of  this  famous 
city,  in  which,  as  in  a  tranquil  port,  I  have  taken  refuge 
from  the  storms  of  the  world.  See,"  he  cries,  "the 
innumerable  vessels  which  set  forth  from  the  Italian 
shore  in  the  desolate  winter,  in  the  most  variable  and 
stormy  spring,  one  turning  its  prow  to  the  east,  the  other 
to  the  west;  some  carrying  our  wine  to  foam  in  British 
cups,  our  fruits  to  flatter  the  palates  of  the  Scythians, 
and,  still  more  hard  of  credence,  the  wood  of  our  forests 
to  the  ^Egean  and  the  Achaian  isles;  some  to  Syria,  to 
Armenia,  to  the  Arabs  and  Persians,  carrying  oil  and 
linen  and  saffron,  and  bringing  back  all  their  diverse 
goods  to  us." 

Let  me  persuade  you  to  pass  another  hour  in  my  company.  It  was 
the  depth  of  night  and  the  heavens  were  full  of  storm,  and  I,  already 
weary  and  half  asleep,  had  come  to  an  end  of  my  writing,  when  suddenly 
a  burst  of  shouts  from  the  sailors  penetrated  my  ear.  Aware  of  what 
these  shouts  should  mean  from  former  experience,  I  rose  hastily  and 
went  up  to  the  higher  windows  of  this  house,  which  look  out  upon  the 
port.  Oh,  what  a  spectacle  !  mingled  with  feelings  of  pity,  of  wonder, 
of  fear,  and  of  delight.  Resting  on  their  anchors  close  to  the  marble 
banks  which  serve  as  a  mole  to  the  vast  palace  which  this  free  and  liberal 
city  has  conceded  to  me  for  my  dwelling,  several  vessels  have  passed  the 
winter,  exceeding  with  the  height  of  their  masts  and  spars  the  two  towers 
which  flank  my  house.  The  larger  of  the  two  was  at  this  moment — 
though  the  stars  were  all  hidden  by  the  clouds,  the  winds  shaking  the 
walls,  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  filling  the  air — leaving  the  quay  and  setting 
out  upon  its  voyage.  Jason  and  Hercules  would  have  been  stupefied 
with  wonder,  and  Tiphys,  seated  at  the  helm,  would  have  been  ashamed 
of  the  nothing  which  won  him  so  much  fame.  If  you  had  seen  it,  you 
would  have  said  it  was  no  ship  but  a  mountain  swimming  upon  the  sea, 
although  under  the  weight  of  its  immense  wings  a  great  part  of  it  was 
hidden  in  the  waves.  The  end  of  the  voyage  was  to  be  the  Don,  beyond 
which  nothing  can  navigate  from  our  seas ;  but  many  of  those  who  were 
on  board,  when  they  had  reached  that  point,  meant  to  prosecute  their 
journey  ;  never  pausing  till  they  had  reached  the  Ganges  or  the  Cau- 
casus, India  and  the  Eastern  Ocean.  So  far  does  love  of  gain  stimulate 
the  human  mind  !  Pity  seized  me,  I  confess,  for  these  unfortunates, 
and  I  perceived  how  right  the  poet  was  who  called  sailors  wretched. 
And  being  able  no  longer  to  follow  them  with  my  eyes  into  the  dark- 
ness, with  much  emotion  I  took  up  my  pen  again,  exclaiming  within 
myself,  "  Oh,  how  dear  is  life  to  all  men,  and  in  how  little  account  they 
hold  it ! " 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  293 

It  is  evident  that  the  beginning  of  his  stay  in  Venice 
was  very  agreeable  to  the  poet.  He  had  not  been  long 
established  in  the  palace  of  the  two  towers  when  Boc- 
caccio, like  himself  seeking  refuge  from  the  plague  and 
from  the  wars,  came  to  visit  him,  and  remained  three 
months,  enjoying  the  calm,  the  lovely  prospect,  the 
wonderful  city,  and,  what  was  still  more,  the  learned 
society  which  Petrarch  had  already  gathered  around  him. 
The  scholars  and  the  wits  of  those  days  were  sufficiently 
few  to  be  known  to  each  other,  and  to  form  a  very  close 
and  exclusive  little  republic  of  letters  in  every  center  of 
life.  But  in  Venice  even  these  learned  personages 
owned  the  charm  of  the  locality,  and  met  not  only  in 
their  libraries  among  their  books,  or  at  the  classic  feasts, 
where  the  gossip  was  of  Cicero  and  Cato,  of  Vergil  and 
of  Ovid,  and  not  of  nearer  neighbors, — where  every  man 
had  his  classical  allusion,  his  quotations,  his  talk  of 
Helicon  and  Olympus, — but  on  the  soft  and  level  waters, 
the  brimming,  wide  lagoon,  like  lesser  men.  When 
Petrarch  invites  the  great  story-teller  of  Florence  to 
renew  his  visit,  he  reminds  him  of  those  "elect  friends" 
with  whom  he  had  already  made  acquaintance,  and  how 
the  dignified  Benintendi,  though  devoted  to  public  busi- 
ness all  day,  yet  in  the  falling  of  the  evening,  with  light- 
hearted  and  friendly  countenance,  would  come  in  his 
gondola  to  refresh  himself  with  pleasant  talk  from  the 
fatigues  of  the  day.  "You  know  by  experience,"  he 
says,  "how  delightful  were  those  nocturnal  rambles  on 
the  sea,  and  that  conversation  enlightened  and  sincere." 
To  think  of  Boccaccio  stepping  forth  with  Petrarch  upon 
the  Riva,  taking  a  boat  in  those  soft  summer  nights,  in 
sul  far  ddla  sera,  in  the  making  of  the  evening,  when  the 
swift  shadows  fell  across  the  glimmering  distance,  and 
the  curves  of  the  lagoon  caught  the  first  touches  of  the 
moonlight,  comes  upon  us  with  a  delightful  contrast,  yet 
likeness  to  the  scenes  more  associated  with  their  names. 
The  fountain  of  Vaucluse  and  Laura's  radiant  image,  the 
gardens  and  glades  of  the  "Decameron,"  with  all  their 
youths  and  maidens,  were  less  suitable  now  to  the  elderly 
poets  than  that  talk  of  all  things  in  earth  and  heaven, 
which  in  the  dusk,  upon  the  glistening  levels  of  the  still 
water,  two  friendly  gondolas,  softly  gliding  on  in  time, 
would  pass  from  one  to  another  in  interchanges  sometimes 


2p4  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

pensive,  sometimes  playful,  in  gentle  arguments  long 
drawn  out,  and  that  mutual  comparison  of  the  facts  of 
life  and  deductions  from  them  which  form  the  conversa- 
tion of  old  men.  There  were  younger  companions  too, 
like  that  youth  of  Ravenna  of  whom  Petrarch  writes, 
"whom  you  do  not  know,  but  who  knows  you  well,  hav- 
ing seen  you  in  this  house  of  mine,  which,  like  all  that  be- 
longs to  me,  is  yours,  and,  according  to  the  use  of  youth, 
watched  you  daily,"  who  would  join  the  poets  in  their 
evening  row,  and  hang  about  the  gondola  of  the  great 
men  to  catch  perhaps  some  word  of  wisdom,  some  classical 
comparison;  while,  less  reverential,  yet  not  without  a 
respectful  curiosity,  the  other  boats  that  skimmed  across 
the  lagoon  would  pause  a  minute  to  point  out — the  lover 
to  his  lady,  the  gondolier  to  his  master — the  smooth  and 
urbane  looks  of  him  who  had  been  crowned  at  Rome  the 
greatest  of  living  poets,  and  the  Florentine  at  his  side, 
the  romancer  of  his  age — two  such  men  as  could  not  be 
equaled  anywhere,  the  guests  of  Venice.  No  doubt 
neither  lute  nor  song  was  wanting  to  chime  in  with  the 
tinkle  of  the  wave  upon  the  boats  and  the  measured 
pulsation  of  the  oars.  And  as  they  pushed  forth  upon 
the  lagoon,  blue  against  the  latest  yellow  of  the  sunset, 
would  rise  the  separate  cones  and  peaks  of  the  Euganeans, 
among  which  lay  little  Arqua,  still  unnoted,  where  the 
laureate  of  the  world  was  to  leave  his  name  forever. 
The  grave  discussions  of  that  moment  to  come,  of  the 
sunset  of  life,  and  how  each  man  endured  or  took  a  pen- 
sive pleasure  in  its  falling  shadows,  would  be  dismissed 
with  a  smile  as  the  silvery  ferro  glided  slowly  round  like 
a  swan  upon  the  water,  and  the  pleased  companions 
turned  to  where  the  two  towers  rose  over  the  bustling 
Riva,  and  the  lighted  windows  shone,  and  the  table  was 
spread.  "  Vieni  dunque  invocato"  says  the  poet,  as  he 
recalls  these  delights  to  the  mind  of  his  friend.  "The 
gentle  season  invites  to  where  no  other  cares  await  you 
but  those  pleasant  and  joyful  occupations  of  the  Muses, 
to  a  house  most  healthful,  which  I  do  not  describe 
because  you  know  it."  It  is  strange,  however,  to 
remember  that  these  thoughtful  old  men,  in  the  reflective 
leisure  of  their  waning  years,  are  the  lover  of  Laura  and 
the  author  of  the  "  Decameron." 

On  another  occasion  the  poet  puts  before  us  a  picture 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  295 

of  a  different  character,  but  also  full  of  interest.  It  is 
on  the  4th  of  June,  1364,  a  memorable  day,  and  he  is 
seated  at  his  window  with  a  friend,  looking  out  over  the 
ampio  mare,  the  full  sea  which  spreads  before  him.  The 
friend  was  one  of  his  oldest  and  dearest  companions,  his 
schoolfellow,  and  the  comrade  of  his  entire  life,  now 
Archbishop  of  Patras,  and  on  his  way  to  his  see,  but 
pausing  to  spend  the  summer  in  that  most  healthful 
of  houses  with  the  happy  poet.  The  two  old  friends, 
newly  met,  sat  together  looking  out  upon  that  lively  and 
brilliant  scene  as  they  talked  and  exchanged  remem- 
brances, when  their  conversation  was  disturbed  by  a 
startling  incident. 

Suddenly  and  without  warning  there  rose  upon  our  sight  one  of  those 
long  vessels  which  are  called  galleys,  crowned  with  green  branches,  and 
with  all  the  force  of  its  rowers  making  for  the  port.  At  this  unexpected 
sight  we  broke  off  our  conversation,  and  felt  a  hope  springing  in  our  hearts 
that  such  a  ship  must  be  the  bearer  of  good  news.  As  the  swelling  sails 
drew  near  the  joyful  aspect  of  the  sailors  became  visible,  and  a  handful 
of  young  men,  also  crowned  with  green  leaves  and  with  joyous  coun- 
tenances, standing  on  the  prow,  waving  flags  over  their  heads,  and 
saluting  the  victorious  city  as  yet  unaware  of  her  own  triumph.  Already 
from  the  highest  tower  the  approach  of  a  strange  ship  had  been  signaled, 
and  not  by  any  command,  but  moved  by  the  most  eager  curiosity,  the 
citizens  from  every  part  of  the  town  rushed  together  in  a  crowd  to  the 
shore.  And  as  the  ship  came  nearer  and  everything  could  be  seen  dis- 
tinctly, hanging  from  the  poop  we  perceived  the  flag  of  the  enemy,  and 
there  remained  no  doubt  that  this  was  to  announce  a  victory. 

A  victory  it  was,  one  of  the  greatest  which  had  been 
gained  by  Venetian  arms,  the  recapture  of  Candia  (Crete) 
with  little  bloodshed  and  great  glory  to  the  republic — 
though  it  is  somewhat  difficult  to  understand  Petrarch's 
grand  assumption  that  it  was  the  triumph  of  justice  more 
than  of  Venice  which  intoxicated  the  city  with  delight. 
He  rises  into  ecstatic  strains  as  he  describes  the  rejoic- 
ings of  the  triumphant  state. 

What  finer,  what  more  magnificent  spectacle  could  be  than  the  just 
joy  which  fills  a  city,  not  for  damage  done  to  the  enemy's  possessions  or 
for  the  gains  of  civic  rivalry  such  as  are  prized  elsewhere,  but  solely  for 
the  triumph  of  justice?  Venice  exults;  the  august  city,  the  sole 
shelter,  in  our  days,  of  liberty,  justice,  and  peace  ;  the  sole  refuge 
of  the  good;  the  only  port  in  which,  beaten  down  everywhere  else  by 
tyranny  and  war,  the  ships  of  those  men  who  seek  to  lead  a  tranquil  life 
may  find  safety  and  restoration  ;  a  city  rich  in  gold  but  more  rich  in 
fame,  potent  in  strength  but  more  in  virtue,  founded  upon  solid  marble. 


296  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

but  upon  yet  more  solid  foundations  of  concord  and  harmony — and,  even 
more  than  by  the  sea  which  girds  her,  by  the  prudent  wisdom  of  her 
sons  defended  and  made  secure.  Venice  exults,  not  only  over  the 
regained  sovereignty  of  Crete,  which,  whosoever  great  in  antique 
splendor,  is  but  a  small  matter  to  great  spirits  accustomed  to  esteem 
lightly  all  that  is  not  virtue  ;  but  she  exults  in  the  event  with  good  reason, 
and  takes  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  the  right  is  victorious — that  is  to 
say,  not  her  proper  cause  alone,  but  that  of  justice. 

It  is  clear  from  this  that  the  triumph  in  the  air  had 
got  into  the  poet's  head,  and  the  great  contagion  of 
popular  enthusiasm  had  carried  him  away.  He  proceeds 
to  relate,  as  well  as  "the  poverty  of  my  style  and  my 
many  occupations  "  will  permit,  the  joyful  progress  of 
the  thanksgivings  and  national  rejoicing. 

When  the  orators  landed  and  recounted  everything  to  the  Great 
Council,  every  hope  and  anticipation  were  found  to  fall  short  of  the 
truth  ;  the  enemy  had  been  overcome,  taken,  cut  to  pieces,  dispersed  in 
hopeless  flight  ;  the  citizens  restored  to  freedom,  the  city  subdued  ; 
Crete  brought  again  under  the  ancient  dominion,  the  victorious  arms 
laid  down,  the  war  finished  almost  without  bloodshed,  and  glory  and 
peace  secured  at  one  blow.  When  all  these  things  were  made  known  to 
the  Doge  Lorenzo,  to  whose  greatness  his  surname  of  Celso  *  agrees 
perfectly;  a  man  distinguished  for  magnanimity,  for  courtesy,  and  every 
fine  virtue,  but  still  more  for  piety  toward  God  and  love  for  his  country — 
well  perceiving  that  nothing  is  good  but  that  which  begins  with  heaven, 
he  resolved  with  all  the  people  to  render  praise  and  homage  to  God; 
and  accordingly,  with  magnificent  rites  through  all  the  city,  but  specially 
in  the  basilica  of  San  Marco  Evangelista,  than  which  I  know  nothing 
in  the  world  more  beautiful,  were  celebrated  the  most  solemn  thanks- 
givings which  have  ever  taken  place  within  the  memory  of  man;  and 
around  the  temple  and  in  the  Piazza  a  magnificent  procession,  in  which 
not  only  the  people  and  all  the  clergy,  but  many  prelates  from  foreign 
parts,  brought  here  by  curiosity,  or  the  great  occasion,  or  the  proclama- 
tion far  and  near  of  these  great  ceremonies,  took  part.  When  these 
demonstrations  of  religion  and  piety  were  completed,  eveiy  soul  turned 
to  games  and  rejoicings. 

Our  poet  continues  at  length  the  record  of  these  festivi- 
ties, especially  of  those  with  which  the  great  festival 
terminated,  two  exercises  of  which  he  cannot,  he  says, 
give  the  Latin  name,  but  which  in  Italian  are  called,  one 
corsa,  a  race,  the  other  gwstra,  a  tournament.  In  the 
first  of  these,  which  would  seem  to  have  been  something 
like  the  ancient  riding  at  the  ring,  no  strangers  were 
allowed  to  compete,  but  only  twenty-four  Venetian  youths 
of  noble  race  and  magnificently  clad,  under  the  direction 

*  Eccelso,  excellent. 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  297 

of  a  famous  actor,  Bombasio  by  name  (from  whence,  we 
believe,  "Bombast"),  who  arranged  their  line  in  so 
delightful  a  manner  that  one  would  have  said  it  was  not 
men  who  rode  but  angels  who  flew,  "so  wonderful  was 
it  to  see  these  young  men,  arrayed  in  purple  and  gold, 
with  bridle  and  spurs,  restraining  at  once  and  exciting 
their  generous  steeds,  which  blazed  also  in  the  sun  with 
the  rich  ornaments  with  which  their  harness  was  covered." 
This  noble  sight  the  poet  witnessed  in  bland  content  and 
satisfaction,  seated  at  the  right  hand  of  the  doge,  upon  a 
splendid  balcony  shaded  with  rich  and  many-tinted  awn- 
ings, which  had  been  erected  over  the  front  of  San  Marco 
behind  the  four  bronze  horses.  Fortunate  poet!  thus 
throned  on  high  to  the  admiration  of  all  the  beholders, 
who  crowded  every  window  and  roof  and  portico,  and 
wherever  human  footing  was  to  be  found,  and  filled  every 
corner  of  the  Piazza  so  that  there  was  not  room  for  a 
grain  of  millet — an  "incredible,  innumerable  crowd," 
among  which  was  no  tumult  or  disorder  of  any  kind, 
nothing  but  joy,  courtesy,  harmony,  and  love!  It  is 
curious  to  note  that  among  the  audience  were  certain 
"very  noble  English  personages,  in  office  and  kindred 
near  to  the  King  of  England,"  who,  "  taking  pleasure  in 
wandering  on  the  vast  sea,"  faithful  to  the  instincts  of 
their  race,  had  been  attracted  by  the  news  of  these  great 
rejoicings.  Among  all  the  splendors  of  Venice  there  is 
none  which  is  more  attractive  to  the  imagination  than 
this  grand  tourney  in  the  great  Piazza,  at  which  the  mild 
and  learned  poet  in  his  black  hood  and  gown,  half  clerical 
and  always  courtly,  accustomed  to  the  best  of  company, 
sat  by  the  side  of  the  doge  in  his  gold-embroidered 
mantle,  with  all  that  was  fairest  in  Venice  around,  and 
gazed  well  pleased  upon  the  spectacle,  not  without  a 
soothing  sense  that  he  himself  in  the  ages  to  come  would 
seem  amid  all  the  purple  and  gold  the  most  notable 
presence  there. 

In  the  year  1366,  when  Petrarch  had  been  established 
for  about  four  years  in  Venice,  an  incident  of  a  very 
different  kind  occurred  to  disturb  his  peace,  and  did, 
according  to  all  the  commentaries,  so  seriously  disturb 
it,  and  offend  the  poet  so  deeply,  that  when  he  next  left 
the  city  it  was  to  return  no  more.  Among  the  stream 
of  visitors  received  by  him  with  his  usual  bland  courtesy 


298  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

in  the  place  of  the  two  towers  were  certain  young  men 
whom  the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  time  had  banded 
together  in  a  pretense  of  learning  and  superior  enlighten- 
ment, not  uncommon  to  any  generation  of  those  youth- 
ful heroes  whose  only  wish  it  is  that  their  fathers  were 
more  wise.  Four  in  particular,  who  were  specially  given 
to  the  study  of  such  Greek  philosophy  as  came  to  them 
broken  by  translators  into  fragments  fit  for  their  capacity, 
had  been  among  the  visitors  of  the  poet.  Deeply 
affronted  as  Petrarch  was  by  the  occurrence  which  fol- 
lowed, he  was  yet  too  magnanimous  to  give  their  names 
to  any  of  his  correspondents;  but  he  describes  them  so 
as  to  have  made  it  possible  for  commentators  to  hazard 
a  guess  as  to  who  they  were.  "  They  are  all  rich,  and 
all  studious  by  profession,  devouring  books,  notwith- 
standing that  the  first  knows  nothing  of  letters;  the 
second  little;  the  third  not  much;  the  fourth,  it  is  true, 
has  no  small  knowledge,  but  has  it  confusedly  and  with- 
out order."  The  first  was  a  soldier,  the  second  a  mer- 
chant (simplex  mercator),  the  third  a  noble  (simplex 
nobilis),  the  fourth  a  physician.  A  mere  noble,  a  mere 
merchant — significant  words!  a  soldier,  and  one  who 
probably  led  them  with  his  superior  science  and  informa- 
tion, the  only  one  who  had  the  least  claim  to  be  called  a 
philosopher,  the  young  professional  to  whom  no  doubt 
those  would-be  learned  giovinastri  looked  up  as  to  a 
shining  light.  They  were  disciples  of  Averroes — or 
most  likely  it  was  the  young  physician  who  was  so,  and 
whose  reinterpretation  charmed  the  young  men;  and  by 
consequence,  in  that  dawn  of  the  Renaissance,  they  were 
all  infidels,  believers  in  Aristotle  and  nothing  else. 
Petrarch  himself  narrates  with  much  naivete'  the  method 
he  employed  with  one  of  these  irreverent  and  disdainful 
youths.  The  poet,  in  his  argument  with  the  young  unbe- 
liever, had  quoted  from  the  New  Testament  a  saying  of 
an  apostle. 

"  Your  apostle,"  he  replied,  "  was  a  mere  sower  of  words,  and  more 
than  that,  was  mad."  "  Bravo!  "  said  I,  "  oh,  philosopher.  These  two 
things  have  been  laid  to  the  charge  of  other  philosophers  in  ancient 
times  ;  and  of  the  second,  Festus,  the  Governor  of  Syria,  accused  him 
whom  I  quote.  But  if  he  was  a  sower  of  words  the  words  were  very 
useful,  and  the  seed  sown  by  him,  and  cultivated  by  his  successors  and 
watered  by  the  holy  blood  of  martyrs,  has  grown  into  the  great  mass  of 
believers  whom  we  now  see."  At  these  words  he  smiled,  and  "  Be  your 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  299 

if  you  like  it,  a  good  Christian,"  he  said  ;  "  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  all 
that ;  and  your  Paul  and  Augustine  and  all  the  rest  whom  you  vaunt  so 
much,  I  hold  them  no  better  than  a  pack  of  gossips.  Oh,  if  you  would 
but  read  Averroes!  then  you  would  see  how  much  superior  he  is  to 
your  fable-mongers."  I  confess  that,  burning  with  indignation,  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  kept  my  hands  off  that  blasphemer.  "  This  con- 
test with  heretics  like  you,"  I  said,  "is  an  old  affair  for  me.  Go  to  the 
devil,  you  and  your  heresy,  and  come  no  more  here."  And  taking  him 
by  the  mantle  with  less  courtesy  than  is  usual  to  me,  but  not  less  than 
his  manners  deserved,  I  put  him  to  the  door. 

This  summary  method  of  dealing  with  the  young 
skeptic  is  not  without  its  uses,  and  many  a  serious  man, 
wearied  with  the  folly  of  youthful  preachers  of  the 
philosophy  fashionable  in  our  day,  which  is  not  of 
Aristotle  or  Averroes,  might  be  pardoned  for  a  longing 
to  follow  Petrarch's  example.  Perhaps  it  was  the  young 
man  described  as  simplex  nobilis,  who,  indignant,  being 
thus  turned  out,  hurried  to  his  comrades  with  the  tale; 
upon  which  they  immediately  formed  themselves  into 
a  bed  of  justice,  weighed  Petrarch  in  the  balance,  and 
found  him  wanting.  "A  good  man,  but  ignorant,"  was 
their  sentence  after  full  discussion — dabben  uomo,  ma 
ignorante.  The  mild  yet  persistent  rage  with  which  the 
poet  heard  of  this  verdict — magnanimous,  restraining 
himself  from  holding  up  the  giovinastri  to  the  contempt 
of  the  world,  yet  deeply  and  bitterly  wounded  by  their 
boyish  folly — is  very  curious.  The  effect  produced  upon 
Lord  Tennyson  and  Mr.  Browning  at  the  present  day 
by  the  decision  of  a  tribunal  made  up  of,  let  us  say,  a 
young  guardsman,  a  little  lord,  a  millionaire's  heir,  led 
by  some  young  professional  writer  or  scientific  authority, 
would  be  very  different.  The  poets  and  the  world  would 
laugh  to  all  the  echoes,  and  the  giovinastri  would  achieve 
a  reputation  such  as  they  would  little  desire.  But  the 
use  of  laughter  had  not  been  discovered  in  Petrarch's 
days,  and  a  poet  crowned  in  the  Capitol,  laureate  of  the 
universe,  conscious  of  being  the  first  man  of  letters  in 
the  world,  naturally  did  not  treat  these  matters  so 
lightly.  He  talks  of  them  in  his  letters  with  an  offended 
dignity  which  verges  upon  the  comic.  "Four  youths, 
blind  in  the  eyes  of  the  mind,  men  who  consider  them- 
selves able  to  judge  of  ignorance  as  being  themselves 
most  ignorant — si  tengono  competent!  a  giudicare  delta 
ignoranza  flerche  son  essi  ignorantissimi — attempting  to  rob 


300  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

me  of  my  fame,  since  they  well  know  that  they  can 
never  hope  for  fame  in  their  own  persons,"  he  says;  and 
at  last,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  offense,  Venice  herself, 
the  hospitable  and  friendly  city,  of  which  he  had  lately 
spoken  as  the  peaceful  haven  and  refuge  of  the  human 
spirit,  falls  under  the  same  reproach.  In  every  part  of 
the  world,  he  says,  such  a  sentence  would  be  received 
with  condemnation  and  scorn;  "except  perhaps  in  the 
city  where  it  was  given  forth,  a  city  truly  great  and 
noble,  but  inhabited  by  so  great  and  so  varied  a  crowd 
that  many  therein  take  men  without  knowledge  for 
judges  and  philosophers."  And  when  the  heats  of 
summer  came,  sending  him  forth  on  the  round  of  visits 
which  seems  to  have  been  as  necessary  to  Petrarch  as  if 
he  had  lived  in  the  nineteenth  century,  the  offended  poet 
did  not  return  to  Venice.  When  his  visits  were  over  he 
withdrew  to  Arqua,  on  the  soft  skirts  of  the  Euganean 
hills,  where  all  was  rural  peace  and  quiet,  and  no  pre- 
sumptuous giovinastri  could  trouble  him  more. 

This  incident,  however,  would  seem  to  point  to  an 
element  of  tumult  and  trouble  in  Venice,  to  which 
republics  seem  more  dangerously  exposed  than  other 
states.  It  was  the  insults  of  the  giovinastri,  insolent  and 
unmannerly  youths,  which  drove  Marino  Faliero  to  his 
doom  not  very  many  years  before.  And  Petrarch  him- 
self implores  Andrea  Dandolo,  the  predecessor  of  that 
unfortunate  doge,  to  take  counsel  with  the  old  men  of 
experience,  not  with  hot-headed  boys,  in  respect  to  the 
Genoese  wars.  The  youths  would  seem  to  have  been  in 
the  ascendant,  idle — for  it  was  about  this  period  that 
wise  men  began  to  lament  the  abandonment  at  once 
of  traditional  trade  and  of  the  accompanying  warlike 
spirit  among  the  young  patricians,  who  went  to  sea  no 
more,  and  left  fighting  to  the  mercenaries — and  luxurious; 
spending  their  time  in  intrigues  on  the  Broglio  and  else- 
where, and  taking  upon  them  those  arrogant  airs  which 
make  aristocracy  detestable.  A  Dandolo  and  a  Contarini 
are  in  the  list  (supposed  to  be  authentic)  of  Petrarch's 
assailants,  and  no  doubt  the  supports  of  fathers  in  the 
Forty  or  the  Ten  would  embolden  these  idle  youths  for 
every  folly.  Their  foolish  verdict  would  by  this  means 
cut  deeper,  and  Petrarch,  like  the  old  doge,  was  now 
sonless,  and  had  the  less  patience  to  support  the  inso- 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  30! 

lence  of  other  people's  boys.  He  retired  accordingly 
from  the  ignoble  strife,  and  on  his  travels,  as  he  says, 
having  nothing  else  to  do,  on  the  banks  of  the  Po,  began 
his  treatise  on  "the  ignorance  of  himself  and  many 
others  " — de  sui  ipsius  et  multorum  ignorantia,  which  was, 
let  us  hope,  a  final  balsam  to  the  sting  which  the  gio- 
vinastriy  unmannerly  and  presumptuous  lads,  had  left  in 
his  sensitive  mind. 

The  books  which  he  had  offered  to  the  republic  as  the 
foundation  of  a  public  library  were  left  behind,  first  in 
the  hands  of  a  friend,  afterward  in  the  charge  of  the 
state.  But  Venice  at  that  time  had  other  things  to  do 
than  to  think  of  books,  and  these  precious  manuscripts 
were  placed  in  a  small  chamber  on  the  terrace  of  San 
Marco,  near  the  four  great  horses  of  the  portico — and 
there  forgotten.  Half  a  century  later  the  idea  of  the 
public  library  revived;  and  this  was  confirmed  by  the 
legacy  made  by  Cardinal  Bessarione  of  all  his  manuscripts 
in  1468 — a  hundred  years  after  the  gift  of  Petrarch;  but 
nearly  two  centuries  more  had  passed,  and  the  splendid 
Biblioteca  de  San  Marco  had  come  into  being,  a  noble 
building  and  a  fine  collection,  before  it  occurred  to  some 
stray  citizens  and  scholars  to  inquire  where  the  poet's 
gift  might  be.  Finally,  in  1634,  the  little  room  was 
opened,  and  there  were  discovered — a  mass  of  damp 
decay,  as  they  had  been  thrown  in  nearly  three  centuries 
before — the  precious  parchments,  the  books  which 
Petrarch  had  collected  so  carefully,  and  which  he  thought 
worthy  to  be  the  nucleus  of  a  great  public  library.  Some 
few  were  extracted  from  the  mass  of  corruption,  and 
at  last  were  placed  where  the  poet  had  intended  them 
to  be.  But  this  neglect  will  always  remain  a  shame  to 
Venice.  Perhaps  at  first  the  giovinastri  had  something 
to  do  with  it;  throwing  into  contempt  as  of  little  impor- 
tance the  gift  of  the  poet — a  suggestion  which  has  been 
made  with  more  gravity  by  a  recent  librarian,  who  points 
out  that  the  most  valuable  of  Petrarch's  books  remained 
in  his  possession  until  his  death,  and  were  sold  and  dis- 
persed at  Padua  after  that  event.  So  that  it  is  possible, 
though  the  suggestion  is  somewhat  ungenerous,  that, 
after  all,  the  loss  to  humanity  was  not  so  very  great. 
At  all  events,  there  is  this  to  be  said,  that  Petrarch  did 
not  lose  by  his  bargain,  though  Venice  did.  The  poet 


SANTA  BARBAHA  STATE  COLLEGE  LIBR 


3°2  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

got  the  dignified  establishment  he  wanted — a  vast  palace, 
as  he  himself  describes  it,  in  which  he  had  room  to 
receive  his  friends  and  from  which  he  could  witness  all 
the  varied  life  of  Venice.  He  had  not,  we  think,  any 
great  reason  to  complain — he  had  received  his  equiva- 
lent. His  hosts  were  the  losers  by  their  own  neglect, 
but  not  the  poet. 

It  was  but  a  short  episode  in  his  learned  and  leisurely 
and  highly  successful  life;  but  it  is  the  only  poetical 
association  we  have  with  Venice.  He  shows  us  some- 
thing of  the  cultured  society  of  the  time,  with  its  advan- 
tages and  its  drawbacks,  a  society  more  "precious" 
than  original,  full  of  commentaries  and  criticisms,  loving 
conversation  and  mutual  comparison  and  classical  allu- 
sion, not  so  gay  as  the  painters  of  an  after  age,  with  less 
inclination  to  suonar  il  liuto,  or,  indeed,  introduce  any- 
thing which  could  interfere  with  that  talk  which  was 
the  most  beloved  of  all  entertainments.  Boccaccio,  one 
cannot  but  feel,  must  have  brought  something  livelier  and 
more  gay  with  him  when  he  was  one  of  those  who  sat  at 
the  high  windows  of  the  Palazzo  delle  due  Torri  and 
looked  out  upon  all  the  traffic  of  the  port,  and  the  ships 
going  out  to  sea.  But  the  antechambers  of  the  poet 
were  always  crowded  as  if  he  had  been  a  prince,  the  doge 
ever  ready  to  do  him  honor,  and  all  the  great  persons 
deeply  respectful  of  Dom  Francesco,  though  the  young 
ones  might  scoff,  not  without  a  smile  aside  from  their 
fathers,  at  the  bland  laureate's  conviction  of  his  own 
greatness. 

No  other  poet  has  ever  illustrated  Venice.  Dante 
passed  through  the  great  city  and  did  not  love  her,  if 
his  supposed  letter  on  the  subject  is  real — at  all  events, 
brought  no  image  out  of  her  except  that  of  the  pitch 
boiling  in  the  Arsenal,  and  the  seamen  repairing  their 
storm-beaten  ships.  Nameless  poets,  no  doubt,  there 
were,  whose  songs  the  mariners  bellowed  along  the 
Riva,  and  the  maidens  sang  at  their  work.  The  fol- 
lowing anonymous  relic  is  so  pure  and  tender  that, 
though  far  below  the  level  of  a  laureated  poet,  it  may 
serve  to  throw  a  little  fragrance  upon  the  name  of 
poetry  in  Venice,  so  little  practiced  and  so  imperfectly 
known.  It  is  the  lament  of  a  wife  for  her  husband  gone 
to  the  wars — alia  Crociata  in  Oriente — a  humble  Crusader- 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  303 

seaman,  no  doubt;  one  of  those,  perhaps,  who  followed 
old  Enrico  Dandolo,  with  the  cross  on  his  rough  cap, 
ignorant  of  all  the  wiles  of  statesmanship,  while  his  wife 
waited  wistfully  through  many  months  and  years. 

"  Donna  Frisa,  in  your  way, 
You  give  me  good  advice,  to  lay 
By  this  grieving  out  of  measure, 
Saying  to  see  me  is  no  pleasure, 
Since  my  husband,  gone  to  war, 
Carried  my  heart  with  him  afar  ; 
But  since  he's  gone  beyond  the  sea 
This  alone  must  comfort  me. 
I  have  no  fear  of  growing  old, 
For  hope  sustains  and  makes  me  bold 
While  I  think  upon  my  lord  ; 
In  him  is  all  my  comfort  stored, 
No  other  bearing  takes  my  eye, 
In  him  does  all  my  pleasure  lie  ; 
Nor  can  I  think  him  far,  while  he 
Ever  in  love  is  near  to  me. 
Lone  in  my  room,  my  eyes  are  dim, 
Only  from  fear  of  harm  to  him. 
Nought  else  I  fear,  and  hope  is  strong 
He  will  come  back  to  me  anon  ; 
And  all  my  plaints  to  gladness  rise. 
And  into  songs  are  turned  my  sighs, 
Thinking  of  that  good  man  of  mine  ; 
No  more  I  wish  to  make  me  fine, 
Or  look  into  the  glass,  or  be 
Fair,  since  he  is  not  here  to  see. 
In  my  chamber  alone  I  sit, 
The  festa  may  pass,  I  care  not  for  it, 
Nor  to  gossip  upon  the  stairs  outside, 
Nor  from  the  window  to  look,  nor  glide 
Out  on  the  balcony,  save  't  may  be 
To  gaze  afar,  across  the  sea, 
Praying  that  God  would  guard  my  lord 
In  Paganesse,  sending  His  word 
To  give  the  Christians  the  victory, 
And  home  in  health  and  prosperity 
To  bring  him  back,  and  with  him  all 
In  joy  and  peace  perpetual. 

"  When  I  make  this  prayer  I  know 
All  my  heart  goes  with  it  so 
That  something  worthy  is  in  me 
My  lord's  return  full  soon  to  see. 
All  other  comforts  I  resign. 
Your  way  is  good,  but  better  mine, 
And  firm  I  hold  this  faith  alone  ; 
The  women  hear  me,  but  never  one 


304  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Contradicts  my  certitude, 
For  I  hold  it  seemly  and  good, 
And  that  to  be  true  and  faithful 
To  a  good  woman  is  natural ; 
Considering  her  husband  still, 
All  his  wishes  to  fulfill, 
And  with  him  to  be  always  glad, 
And  in  his  presence  never  sad. 

"  Thus  should  there  be  between  the  two 
No  thought  but  how  pleasure  to  do, 
She  to  him  and  he  to  her, 
This  their  rivalry  ;  nor  e'er 
Listen  to  any  ill  apart, 
But  of  one  mind  be,  and  one  heart. 
He  ever  willing  what  she  wills, 
She  what  his  pleasure  most  fulfills. 
With  never  quarrel  or  despite, 
But  peace  between  them  morning  and  night. 
This  makes  a  goodly  jealousy 
To  excel  in  love  and  constancy. 
And  thus  is  the  pilgrim  served  aright, 
From  eve  to  morn,  from  day  to  night." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   HISTORIANS. 

THE  first  development  of  native  literature  in  Venice, 
and  indeed  the  only  one  which  attained  any  greatness, 
was  history.  Before  ever  poet  had  sung  or  preacher  dis- 
coursed, in  the  early  days  when  the  republic  was  strug- 
gling into  existence,  there  had  already  risen  in  the 
newly  founded  community  and  among  the  houses  scarcely 
yet  to  be  counted  noble,  but  which  had  begun  to  sway  the 
minds  of  the  fishers  and  traders  and  salt  manufacturers 
of  the  marshes,  annalists  whose  desire  it  was  to  chronicle 
the  doings  of  that  infant  state,  struggling  into  existence 
amid  the  fogs,  of  which  they  were  already  so  proud.  Of 
these  nameless  historians  the  greater  number  have 
dropped  into  complete  oblivion;  but  they  have  furnished 
materials  to  many  successors,  and  in  some  cases  their 
works  still  exist  in  codexes  known  to  the  learned,  afford- 
ing still  their  quota  of  information,  sometimes  mingled 
with  fable,  yet  retaining  here  and  there  a  vigorous  force 
of  life  which  late  writers,  more  correct,  find  it  hard  to  put 
into  the  most  polished  records.  To  all  of  these  Venice 
was  already  the  object  of  all  desire,  the  center  of  all  am- 
bition. Her  beauty — the  splendor  of  her  rising  palaces, 
the  glory  of  her  churches — is  their  subject  from  the  begin- 
ning; though  still  the  foundations  were  not  laid  of  that 
splendor  and  glory  which  has  proved  the  enchantment  of 
later  ages.  This  city  was  the  joy  of  the  whole  earth,  a 
wonder  and  witchery  to  Sagornino  in  the  eleventh  century 
as  much  as  to  Molmenti  in  the  nineteenth;  and  before 
the  dawn  of  serious  history,  as  well  as  with  all  the  aid  of 
state  documents  and  critical  principles  in  her  maturity, 
the  story  of  Venice  has  been  the  great  attraction  to  her 
children,  the  one  theme  of  which  no  Venetian  can  ever 
tire.  It  would  be  out  of  our  scope  to  give  any  list  of 
these  early  writers.  Their  name  is  legion — and- any 
reader  who  can  venture  to  launch  himself  upon  the 
learned,  but  chaotic,  work  of  the  most  serene  Doge  Marco 

3°S 


306  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

Foscarini  upon  Venetian  literature,  will  find  himself 
hustled  on  every  page  by  a  pale  crowd  of  half-perceptible 
figures  in  every  department  of  historical  research.  The 
laws,  the  church,  the  trade  of  Venice,  her  money,  her 
ceremonials  and  usages,  the  speeches  of  her  orators,  her 
treaties  with  foreign  powers,  her  industries;  in  all  of 
these  by-ways  of  the  history  are  crowds  of  busy  workers, 
each  contributing  his  part  to  that  one  central  object  of 
all — the  glory  and  the  history  of  the  city,  which  was  to 
every  man  the  chief  object  in  the  world. 

It  was,  however,  only  in  the  time  of  Andrea  Dandolo, 
the  first  man  of  letters  who  occupied  the  doge's  chair,  the 
friend  of  Petrarch  and  of  all  the  learned  of  his  time,  that 
the  artless  chronicles  of  the  early  ages  were  consolidated 
into  history.  Of  Andrea  himself  we  have  but  little  to 
tell.  His  own  appearance  is  dim  in  the  far  distance,  only 
coming  fairly  within  our  vision  in  those  letters  of  Petrarch 
already  quoted,  in  which  the  learned  and  cultivated 
scholar  prince  proves  himself,  in  spite  of  every  exhorta- 
tion and  appeal,  a  Venetian  before  all,  putting  aside  the 
humanities  in  which  he  was  so  successful  a  student,  and 
the  larger  sympathies  which  letters  and  philosophy  ought 
to  bring — with  a  sudden  frown  over  the  countenance 
which  regarded  with  friendly  appreciation  all  the  other 
communications  of  the  poet  until  he  permitted  himself  to 
speak  of  peace  with  Genoa,  and  to  plead  that  an  end 
might  be  put  to  those  bloody  and  fratricidal  wars  which 
devastated  Italy.  Dandolo,  with  all  his  enlightenment, 
was  not  sufficiently  enlightened  to  see  this,  or  to  be  able 
to  free  himself  from  the  prejudices  and  native  hostilities 
of  his  State.  He  thought  the  war  with  Genoa  just  and 
necessary,  while  Petrarch  wrung  his  hands  over  the  woes 
of  a  country  torn  in  pieces;  and  instead  of  responding  to 
the  ideal  picture  of  a  common  prosperity  such  as  the  two 
great  maritime  rivals  might  enjoy  together,  flamed  forth 
in  wrath  at  the  thought  even  of  a  triumph  which  should 
be  shared  with  that  most  intimate  enemy.  The  greater 
part  of  his  reign  was  spent  in  the  exertions  necessary  to 
keep  up  one  of  these  disastrous  wars,  and  he  died  in  the 
midst  of  defeat,  with  nothing  but  ill  news  of  his  armatas, 
and  Genoese  galleys  in  the  Adriatic,  pushing  forward, 
perhaps, — who  could  tell, — to  Venice  herself.  "The 
republic,  within  and  without,  was  threatened  with  great 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  307 

dangers,"  says  Sabellico,  at  the  moment  of  his  death,  and 
he  was  succeeded  by  the  ill-fated  Faliero,  to  show  how 
distracted  was  the  state  at  this  dark  period.  Troubles  of 
all  kinds  had  distinguished  the  reign  of  the  learned 
Andrea.  Earthquakes,  for  which  the  philosophers 
sought  strange  explanations,  such  as  that  they  were 
caused  by  "a  spirit,  bound  and  imprisoned  under- 
ground," which,  with  loud  noises,  and  often  with  fire  and 
flame,  escaped  by  the  openings  and  caverns;  and  pesti- 
lence, which  Sabellico  believes  to  have  been  caused  by 
certain  fish  driven  up  along  the  coast.  Notwithstanding 
all  these  troubles,  Dandolo  found  time  and  leisure  to  add 
a  sixth  volume  to  the  collections  of  laws  already  made, 
and  to  compile  his  history — a  dignified  and  scrupulous,  if 
somewhat  brief  and  formal,  narrative  of  the  lives  and  acts 
of  his  predecessors  in  the  ducal  chair.  The  former 
writers  had  left  each  his  fragment;  Sagornino,  for  in- 
stance, dwelling  chiefly  upon  Venice  under  the  reign  of 
the  Orseoli,  to  the  extent  of  his  personal  experiences. 
Dandolo  was  the  first  to  weave  these  broken  strands  into 
one  continuous  thread.  He  had  not  only  the  early 
chronicles  within  his  reach,  but  the  papers  of  the  state 
and  those  of  his  own  family,  which  had  already  furnished 
three  doges  to  the  republic,  and  thus  was  in  every  way 
qualified  for  his  work.  It  is  remarkable  to  note  through 
all  the  conflicts  of  the  time,  through  the  treacherous  still- 
ness before  the  earthquake  and  the  horrified  clamor  after; 
through  the  fierce  exultation  of  victory  and  the  dismal 
gloom  of  defeat,  and  amid  all  those  troubled  ways  where 
pestilence  and  misery  had  set  up  their  abode,  this  philoso- 
pher,— doctor  of  laws,  the  first  who  ever  sat  upon  that 
throne, — the  scholar  and  patron  of  letters,  distracted  with 
all  the  cares  of  his  uneasy  sway,  yet  going  on  day  by  day 
with  his  literary  labors,  laying  the  foundation  firm  for 
his  countrymen,  upon  which  so  many  have  built.  How 
Petrarch's  importunities  about  these  dogs  of  Genoese, 
perpetual  enemies  of  the  republic,  as  if,  forsooth,  they 
were  brothers  and  Christian  men!  must  have  fretted  him 
in  the  midst  of  his  studies.  What  d  id  a  poet  priest,  a  clas- 
sical half-Frenchman  of  peace,  know  about  such  matters? 
The  same  language!  Who  dared  to  compare  the  harsh 
dialect  these  wretches  jabbered  among  themselves  with 
the  liquid  Venetian  speech?  The  same  country!  As  far 


308  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

different  as  east  from  west.  They  were  no  brethren, 
but  born  enemies  of  Venice,  never  to  be  reconciled;  and 
in  this  faith  the  enlightened  doge,  the  philosopher  and 
sage,  reigned  and  died. 

After  Dandolo  there  seems  to  have  been  silence  for 
about  half  a  century,  though  no  period  was  without  its 
essays  in  history;  a  noble  patrican  here  and  there,  a 
monk  in  his  leisure,  an  old  soldier  after  his  wars  were 
over,  making  each  his  personal  contribution,  to  lie  for 
the  greater  part  unnoted  in  the  archives  of  his  family 
or  order.  But  about  the  end  of  the  fourteenth  century 
there  rose  a  faint  agitation  among  the  more  learned 
Venetians  as  to  the  expediency  of  compiling  a  general 
history  upon  the  most  authentic  manuscripts  and  records, 
which  should  be  given  forth  to  the  world  with  authority 
as  the  true  and  trustworthy  history  of  Venice.  There 
was,  perhaps,  no  one  sufficiently  in  earnest  to  press  the 
matter,  nor  had  they  any  writer  ready  to  take  up  the 
work.  But,  no  doubt,  it  was  an  excellent  subject  on 
which  to  debate  when  they  met  each  other  in  the  public 
places  whither  patricians  resorted,  and  where  the  wits  had 
their  encounters.  Oh,  for  a  historian  to  write  that  great 
book!  The  noble  philosophers  themselves  were  too  busy 
with  their  legislations,  or  their  pageants,  or  their  classi- 
cal studies,  to  undertake  it  themselves,  and  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  find  anyone  sufficiently  well  qualified  to  fill  the 
office  which  it  was  their  intention  should  be  that 
of  a  public  servant  encouraged  and  paid  by  the  state. 
During  the  next  half  century  there  were  a  great  many 
negotiations  begun,  but  never  brought  to  any  definite 
conclusion,  with  sundry  professors  of  literature,  espe- 
cially one  Biondo,  who  had  already  written  much  on  the 
subject.  But  none  of  them  came  to  any  practical  issue. 
The  century  had  reached  its  last  quarter,  when  the 
matter  was  summarily,  and  by  a  personal  impulse,  taken 
out  of  the  noble  dilettanti's  hands.  Marco  Antonio 
Sabellico,  a  native  of  Vicovaro,  among  the  Sabine  hills, 
and  one  of  the  most  learned  men  and  best  Latinists  of 
his  day,  had  been  drawn  to  Venice  probably  by  the  same 
motives  which  drew  Petrarch  thither:  the  freedom  of  its 
society,  the  hospitality  with  which  strangers  were  re- 
ceived, and  the  eager  welcome  given  by  a  race  ambitious 
of  every  distinction,  but  not  great  in  the  sphere  of 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  309 

letters,  to  all  who  brought  with  them  something  of  that 
envied  fame.  How  it  was  that  he  was  seized  by  the 
desire  to  write  a  history  of  Venice,  which  was  not  his 
own  country,  we  are  not  told.  But  it  is  very  likely  that 
he  was  one  of  those  men  of  whom  there  are  examples 
in  every  generation,  for  whom  Venice  has  an  especial 
charm,  and  who,  like  the  occasional  love-thrall  of  a 
famous  beauty,  give  up  their  lives  to  her  praise  and 
service,  hoping  for  nothing  in  return.  He  might,  on  the 
other  hand,  be  nothing  more  than  an  enterprising  author, 
aware  that  the  patrons  of  literature  in  Venice  were  mov- 
ing heaven  and  earth  to  have  a  history,  and  taking 
advantage  of  their  desire  with  a  rapidity  and  unexpected- 
ness which  would  forestall  every  other  attempt.  He  was 
at  the  time  in  Verona,  in  the  suite  of  the  captain  of  that 
city,  Benedetto  Trivigiano,  out  of  reach  of  public  docu- 
ments, and  naturally  of  many  sources  of  information 
which  would  have  been  thrown  open  to  an  authorized 
historian.  He  himself  speaks  of  the  work  of  Andrea 
Dandolo  as  of  a  book  which  he  had  heard  of  but  never 
seen,  though  it  seems  incredible  that  any  man  should 
take  in  hand  a  history  of  Venice  without  making  himself 
acquainted  with  the  only  authoritative  work  existing  on 
the  subject.  Neither  had  he  seen  the  book  of  Jacopo 
Zeno  upon  the  work  and  exploits  of  his  grandfather 
Carlo,  which  is  the  chief  authority  in  respect  to  so  im- 
portant an  episode  as  the  war  of  Chioggia.  And  he 
wrote  so  rapidly  that  the  work  was  completed  in  fifteen 
months,  "by  reason  of  his  impatience,"  says  Marco 
Foscarini.  Notwithstanding  these  many  drawbacks, 
Sabellico's  history  remains  among  the  most  influential, 
as  it  is  the  most  eloquent,  of  Venetian  histories.  It  is 
seldom  that  a  historian  escapes  without  conviction  of 
error  in  one  part  or  another  of  his  work,  and  Sabellico 
was  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The  learned  of  the  time 
threw  themselves  upon  him  with  all  the  heat  of  critics  who 
have  never  committed  themselves  by  serious  production 
in  their  own  persons.  They  accused  him  of  founding 
his  book  upon  the  narratives  of  the  inferior  annalists, 
and  neglecting  the  good — of  transcribing  from  contempo- 
raries, and  above  all  of  haste,  an  accusation  which  it  is 
impossible  to  deny.  "But,"  says  Foscarini,  "the  thirst 
for  a  general  history  was  such  that  either  these  faults 


3IO  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

were  not  discovered,  or  else  by  reason  of  the  unusual 
accompaniment  of  eloquence,  to  which  as  to  a  new  thing 
the  attention  of  all  was  directed,  they  passed  unob- 
served." The  eager  multitude  took  up  the  book  with 
enthusiasm,  although  the  critics  objected;  and  though 
Sabellico  was  in  no  manner  a  servant  of  the  state,  and 
had  never  had  the  office  of  historian  confided  to  him, 
"the  Senate,  perceiving  the  general  approval,  and  hav- 
ing rather  regard  to  its  own  greatness  than  to  the  real 
value  of  the  work,  settled  upon  the  writer  two  hundred 
gold  ducats  yearly,  merely  on  the  score  of  gracious 
recompense."  This  altogether  disposes,  as  Foscarini 
points  out,  of  the  spiteful  imputation  of  "a  venal  pen," 
which  one  of  his  contemporaries  attributed  to  Sabellico; 
but  at  the  same  time  he  is  careful  to  guard  his  readers  from 
the  error  of  supposing  that  the  historian  had  the  privileges 
and  position  of  a  functionary  chosen  by  the  state. 

The  learned  doge  is  indeed  very  anxious  that  there 
should  be  no  mistake  on  this  point,  nor  any  undue  praise 
appropriated  to  the  first  historian  of  Venice.  All  foreign 
historians,  he  says,  take  him  as  the  chief  authority  on 
Venice,  and  quote  him  continually;  not  only  so,  but 
the  writers  who  immediately  succeeded  him  did  little 
more  than  repeat  what  he  had  said,  and  the  most  learned 
among  them  had  no  thought  of  any  purgation  of  his  nar- 
rative, but  only  to  add  various  particulars,  in  the  main 
following  Sabellico,  for  which  reason  they  are  to  be 
excused  who  believe  that  they  find  in  him  the  very  flower 
of  ancient  Venetian  history;  but  yet  he  cannot  be  justly 
so  considered.  Foscarini  cites  various  errors  in  the  com- 
plicated history  of  the  Crusades,  respecting  which  it  is 
allowed,  however,  that  the  ancient  Venetian  records  con- 
tain very  little  information;  and  such  mistakes  as  that 
on  a  certain  occasion  Sabellico  relates  an  expedition  as 
made  with  the  whole  of  the  armata,  while  Dandolo  fixes 
the  number  at  thirty  galleys — not  a  very  important  error. 
When  all  has  been  said,  however,  there  is  little  doubt 
that  as  a  general  history,  full  in  all  the  more  interesting 
details,  and  giving  a  most  lifelike  and  graphic  picture  of 
the  course  of  Venetian  affairs,  with  all  the  embassies, 
royal  visits,  rebellions,  orations,  sorrows,  and  festivities 
that  took  place  within  the  city,  together  with  those  events 
more  difficult  to  master  that  were  going  on  outside,  the 


MEN   OF    LETTERS.  31! 

history  of  Sabellico  is  the  one  most  attractive  and 
interesting  to  the  reader,  and  on  all  general  events  quite 
trustworthy.  The  original  is  in  Latin,  but  it  was  put 
into  the  vulgar  tongue  within  a  few  years  after  its  publi- 
cation, and  was  afterward  more  worthily  translated  by 
Dolce  in  a  version  which  contains  much  of  the  force  and 
eloquence  of  the  original. 

After  this  another  long  interval  elapsed  in  which  many 
patrician  writers,  one  after  another,  whose  names  and 
works  are  all  recorded  by  Foscarini,  made  essays  less  or 
more  important,  without,  however,  gaining  the  honorable 
position  of  historian  of  the  republic;  until  at  last  the 
project  for  establishing  such  an  office  was  taken  up  in 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  for  the  benefit  of 
a  young  scholar,  noble  but  poor,  Andrea  Navagero.  He 
was  the  most  elegant  Latin  writer  in  Italy,  Foscarini 
says;  indeed,  the  great  Council  of  Ten  themselves  have 
put  their  noble  hands  to  it  that  this  was  the  case.  "His 
style  was  such  as,  by  agreement  of  all  the  learned,  had 
not  its  equal  in  Italy  or  out  of  it,"  is  the  language  of  the 
decree  by  which  his  appointment  was  made.  Being  with- 
out means  he  was  about  to  leave  Venice  to  push  his  for- 
tune elsewhere  by  his  talents,  "  depriving  the  country  of 
so  great  an  ornament" — a  conclusion  "not  to  be  toler- 
ated." To  prevent  such  an  imputation  upon  the  state, 
the  council  felt  themselves  bound  to  interfere,  and 
appointed  Navagero  their  historian,  to  begin  over  again 
that  authentic  and  authorized  history  which  Sabellico  had 
executed  without  authority.  The  chances  probably  are 
that  the  young  and  accomplished  scholar  had  friends 
enough  at  court  to  make  a  strong  effort  for  him,  to 
liberate  him  from  the  alarming  possibility,  so  doubly  sad 
for  a  Venetian,  of  being  "confined  within  the  boundaries 
of  private  life  " — and  that  the  authorities  of  the  state 
bethought  themselves  suddenly  of  a  feasible  way  of  provid- 
ing for  him  by  giving  him  this  long  thought  of  but  never 
occupied  post.  They  were  no  great  judges  of  literature, 
more  especially  of  Latin — their  own  being  of  the  most 
atrocious  description;  but  they  were  susceptible  to  the 
possible  shame  of  allowing  a  scholar  who  might  be  a  credit 
to  the  republic  to  leave  Venice  in  search  of  a  living. 

Young  Navagero  thus  entered  the  first  upon  the  post 
of  historian  of  Venice,  which  he  held  for  many  years 


312  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

without  producing  anything  to  justify  the  council  in 
their  choice.  It  was  probably  intended  only  as  a  means 
of  providing  for  him  pending  his  introduction  into  public 
life;  for  we  find  a  number  of  years  after  a  letter  from 
Bembo,  congratulating  him  on  his  appointment  as  ambas- 
sador to  Spain,  "the  first  thing  which  you  have  ever 
asked  from  the  country,"  and  prophesying  great  things 
to  follow.  He  was  appointed  historian  in  1515,  but  it  is 
not  till  fifteen  years  after  that  we  hear  anything  of  his 
history,  and  that  in  the  most  tragical  way.  In  1530  he 
was  sent  on  an  embassy  to  France,  and  carried  there 
with  him  certain  manuscripts,  the  fruit  of  the  intervening 
years — ten  books,  it  is  said,  of  the  proposed  story  of 
Venice.  But  he  had  not  been  long  in  Paris  when  he 
fell  ill  and  died.  And  shortly  before  his  death — on  the 
very  day,  one  writer  informs  us — he  threw  his  papers 
into  the  fire  with  his  own  hands,  and  destroyed  the  whole. 
Whether  this  arose  from  dissatisfaction  with  his  work,  or 
whether  it  was  done  in  the  delirium  of  mortal  sickness, 
no  one  could  tell.  Foscarini  quotes  from  an  unpublished 
letter  of  Cardinal  Valiero  some  remarks  upon  this  unfor- 
tunate writer,  in  which  he  is  described  as  one  who  was 
never  satisfied  with  moderate  approval  from  others,  and 
still  less  capable  of  pleasing  himself.  This  brief  and 
tragic  episode  suggests  even  more  than  it  tells.  Noble, 
ambitious,  and  poor,  probably  of  an  uneasy  and  fastidious- 
mind — for  he  is  said  on  a  previous  occasion  to  have 
burned  a  number  of  his  early  productions  in  disgust  and 
discouragement — the  despondency  of  sickness  must  have 
overwhelmed  a  sensitive  nature.  The  office  to  which  he 
had  been  promoted  was  still  in  the  visionary  stage;  the 
greatest  things  were  expected  of  the  new  historian  of 
the  republic,  a  work  superseding  all  previous  attempts. 
Sabellico,  who  had  gone  over  the  same  ground  in  choicest 
Latin,  was  still  fresh  in  men's  minds;  and,  still  more 
alarming,  another  Venetian,  older  and  of  greater  weight 
than  himself,  Marino  Sanudo,  one  of  the  most  astonishing 
and  gifted  of  historical  moles,  was  going  on  day  by  day 
with  those  elaborate  records  which  are  the  wonder  of 
posterity,  building  up  the  endless  story  of  the  republic 
with  details  innumerable — a  mine  of  material  for  other 
workers,  if  too  abundant  and  minute  for  actual  history. 
Ser  Andrea  was  no  doubt  well  aware  of  the  keen  inspec' 


MEN   OF    LETTERS.  313 

tion,  the  criticism  sharpened  by  a  sense  that  this  young 
fellow  had  been  put  over  the  heads  of  older  men,  which 
-would  await  his  work;  and  his  own  taste  had  all  the 
fastidious  refinement  of  a  scholar,  more  critical  than 
confident.  When  he  found  himself  in  a  strange  country, 
though  not  as  an  exile  but  with  the  high  commission  of 
the  republic;  sick,  little  hopeful  of  ever  seeing  the 
beloved  city  again;  his  heart  must  have  failed  him  alto- 
gether. These  elaborate  pages,  how  poor  they  are  apt 
to  look  in  the  cold  light  darkened  by  the  shadow  of 
the  grave!  He  would  think  perhaps  of  the  formidable 
academy  in  the  Aldine  workshops  shaking  their  heads 
over  his  work,  picking  out  inaccuracies — finding  perhaps, 
a  danger  more  appalling  still  to  every  classical  mind, 
something  here  and  there  not  Ciceronian  in  his  Latin. 
Nothing  could  be  more  tragic,  yet  there  is  a  lingering 
touch  of  the  ludicrous  too,  so  seldom  entirely  absent 
from  human  affairs.  To  tremble  lest  a  solecism 
should  be  discovered  in  his  style  when  the  solemnity  of 
death  was  already  enveloping  his  being!  Rather  finish 
all  at  one  stroke,  flinging  with  his  feverish  dying  hands 
the  work  never  corrected  enough,  among  the  blazing 
logs,  and  be  done  with  it  forever.  Amid  all  the  artificial 
fervor  of  Renaissance  scholarship  and  the  learned  chatter 
of  the  libraries,  what  a  tragic  and  melancholy  scene! 

The  critics  are  careful  to  indicate  that  this  is  not  the 
same  Andrea  Navagero  who  wrote  the  chronicle  bearing 
that  name,  and  whose  work  is  of  the  most  commonplace 
description.  It  is  confusing  to  find  the  two  so  near  in 
time,  and  with  nothing  to  identify  the  second  bearer  of 
the  name  except  that  he  writes  in  indifferent  Italian 
(Venetian),  and  not  in  classic  Latin,  and  that  his  book 
was  given  to  the  public  while  the  other  Andrea,  lo  Storico, 
was  still  only  a  boy.  The  only  productions  of  the  histo- 
rian so  called,  though  nothing  of  his  history  survives,  seem 
to  have  been  certain  Latin  verses  of  more  or  less  elegance. 

A  very  much  more  important  personage  in  his  time,  as 
in  the  value  of  the  extraordinary  collections  he  left  be- 
hind him,  was  the  diarist  and  historian  already  referred 
to,  Marino  Sanudo.  He  too,  we  may  remark  in  passing, 
is  apt  to  be  confused  with  an  older  writer  of  the  same 
name,  Marino  Sanudo,  called  Torsello,  who  wrote  on  the 
subject  of  the  Crusades,  and  on  many  other  matters  more 


314  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

exclusively  Venetian,  something  like  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before,  in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
The  younger  Sanudo  (or  Sanuto)  was  born  in  1466,  of 
one  of  the  most  noble  houses  in  Venice,  and  educated  in 
all  the  erudition  of  his  time.  He  was  of  such  a  preco- 
cious genius  that  between  his  eleventh  and  fourteenth 
years  he  corresponded  with  the  most  eminent  scholars  of 
the  day,  and  gave  the  highest  hopes  of  future  greatness. 
Even  in  that  early  age  the  dominant  passion  of  his  life 
had  made  itself  apparent,  and  he  seems  already  to  have 
begun  the  collection  of  documents  and  the  record  of  daily 
public  events.  At  the  age  of  eight  it  would  appear  the 
precocious  historian  had  already  copied  out  with  his  own 
small  hand  the  fading  inscriptions  made  by  Petrarch 
under  the  series  of  pictures,  anticchtssimi,  the  first  of  all 
painted  in  the  Hall  of  the  Great  Council.  Sanudo  him- 
self announces  that  he  did  this,  though  without  mention- 
ing his  age;  but  the  anxious  care  of  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown, 
so  well  known  among  the  English  students  and  adorers 
of  Venice,  points  out  that  these  pictures  were  restored 
and  had  begun  to  be  repainted  in  1474,  during  the  child- 
hood of  his  hero.  There  could  be  nothing  more  char- 
acteristic and  natural,  considering  the  after-life  of  the 
man,  than  this  youthful  incident,  and  it  adds  an  interest 
the  more  to  the  hall  in  which  so  often  in  latter  days  our 
historian  mounted  the  tribune,  in  renga,  as  he  calls  it, 
and  addressed  the  assembled  parliament  of  Venice — to 
call  before  us  the  small  figure,  tablets  in  hand,  his  child- 
ish eyes  already  sparkling  with  observation,  and  that 
historical  curiosity  which  was  the  inspiration  of  his  life — 
copying,  before  they  should  altogether  perish,  the  inscrip- 
tions under  the  old  pictures  which  told  the  half-fabulous 
triumphant  tale  of  Barbarossa  beaten  and  Venice  victrice. 
The  colors  were  no  doubt  fading,  flakes  of  the  old  dis- 
temper peeling  off  and  a  general  ruin  threatened,  before 
the  Senate  saw  it  necessary  to  renew  that  historical 
chronicle.  When  we  remember  Sanudo's  humorous,  only 
half-believing  note  on  the  subject  years  after,  "  that  if 
the  story  had  not  been  true,  our  brave  Venetians  would 
not  have  had  it  painted,"  it  gives  a  still  more  delightful 
glow  of  smiling  interest  to  the  image  of  the  little  Marino, 
no  doubt  with  unwavering  faith  in  his  small  bosom  and 
enthusiasm  for  his  city,  taking  down,  to  the  awe  of  many 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  315 

an  unlearned  contemporary,  the  fading  legends  written 
by  the  great  poet,  a  record  at  once  of  the  ancient  glories 
of  Venice  and  of  her  illustrious  guest. 

He  was  seventeen,  however,  and  eager  in  all  the  exer- 
cises of  a  Venetian  gentleman  when  he  went  with  his 
elder  cousin,  Marco  Sanudo,  who  had  been  appointed  one 
of  the  auditors  or  syndics  of  Terra  Firma,  to  Padua  in 
the  spring  of  1483.  The  brilliant  cavalcade  rode  from 
Fusina  by  the  banks  of  the  Brenta,  then  as  now  a  line  of 
villas,  castellos,  hospitable  houses,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  great  honor  and  pomp,  and  visited  every- 
thing that  was  remarkable  in  the  city.  Visto  tutto,  is  the 
youth's  record  wherever  he  went:  and  there  can  indeed 
be  no  doubt  that  in  all  his  journeys  the  young  Marino 
saw  and  noted  everything — the  circumstances  of  the 
locality,  the  scenery,  the  historical  occurrences — all  that 
is  involved  in  the  external  aspect  of  a  place  which  had 
associations  both  classical  and  contemporary.  The 
characteristics  of  his  time  are  very  apparent  in  all  his 
keen  remarks  and  inspections.  He  is  told,  he  says,  that 
Padua  has  many  bodies  of  the  saints,  and  in  this  respect 
is  second  only  to  Rome — but  the  only  sacred  relic  in 
which  he  is  especially  interested  is  the  corpo  e  vero  osse  of 
Livy,  to  which  he  refers  several  times,  giving  the  epitaph 
of  the  classical  historian  at  full  length.  Strangely  enough, 
at  an  age  when  the  art  of  painting  was  growing  to  its 
greatest  development  in  Venice,  no  curiosity  seems  to 
have  been  in  the  young  man's  curious  mind,  nor  even  any 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  the  chapel  of  the  Arena  had 
been  adorned  by  the  great  work  of  a  certain  Giotto, 
though  that  is  the  chief  object  now  of  the  pilgrim  who 
goes  to  Padua.  That  beautiful  chapel  must  have  been  in 
its  fullest  glory  of  color  and  noble  art;  but  there  is  no 
evidence  that  our  cavalier  had  so  much  as  heard  of  it, 
though  he  spies  every  scrap  of  marble  on  the  old  bridges, 
and  carefully  quotes  epigrams  and  verses  about  the  city, 
and  records  every  trifling  circumstance.  "  The  markets 
are  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Friday."  "There  are  forty 
parish  churches,  and  four  hospitals,"  etc.,  etc. — but  not 
a  word  of  the  then  most  famous  pictures  in  the  world. 

This  is  the  "  Itinerario  in  Terra-firma,"  which  is  the  first 
of  the  young  author's  works.  It  is  full  of  the  sprightly 
impulses  of  a  boy,  and  of  a  boy's  pleasure  in  movement, 


316  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

in  novelty,  in  endless  rides  and  expeditions,  tempered  by 
now  and  then  a  day  in  which  the  syndic  data  audientia per 
toto  eljorno,  his  young  cousin  sitting  no  doubt  by  his  side 
more  grave  than  any  judge,  to  hide  the  laugh  always 
lurking  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth:  data  benigna  audien- 
tia, he  says  on  one  occasion,  perhaps  on  one  of  those  May 
days  when  he  rode  off  with  a  cavalcade  of  his  friends 
through  that  green  abundant  country  to  the  village  or 
castello  where  lived  the  queen  of  his  affections — "  that 
oriental  jewel  [Gemma],  that  lovely  face  which  I  seem  to 
have  always  before  me,  inspiring  me  with  many  songs  for 
my  love."  "Oh,  me!  Oh,  me!  "  he  cries  in  half-humorous 
distraction,  "  I  am  going  mad!  Let  me  go  and  sing  more 
than  ever.  Long  before  this  I  ought  to  have  been  in  love. 
Fain  would  I  sing  of  the  goddess,  my  bright  Gemma, 
whose  lovely  countenance  I  ever  adore,  and  who  has 
made  me  with  much  fear  her  constant  servant."  Gemma 
shines  out  suddenly  like  a  star  only  in  this  one  page  of  the 
"  Itinerario."  Perhaps  he  exhausted  his  boyish  passion 
in  constant  rides  to  Rodigio  or  Ruigo,  where  the  lady 
lived,  and  in  his  songs,  of  which  the  specimens  given  are 
not  remarkable.  But  the  sentiment  is  full  of  delightful, 
youthful  extravagance;  and  the  aspect  of  the  young  man 
gravely  noting  everything  by  the  instinct  of  his  nature, 
galloping  forth  among  his  comrades — one  of  whom  he 
calls  Pylades — some  half  dozen  of  them,  a  young  Cor- 
naro,  a  Pisani,  the  bluest  blood  in  Venice — scouring  the 
country,  to  see  the  churches,  the  castles  and  palaces, 
and  everything  that  was  to  be  seen,  and  Gemma  above 
all,  mingles  with  charming  ease  and  inconsistency  the 
dawning  statesman,  the  born  chronicler,  the  gallant,  boy- 
ish lover.  Sometimes  the  cavalcade  counted  forty  horse- 
men, sometimes  only  three  or  four.  The  "  Itinerario  "  is  a 
mass  of  information,  full  of  details  which  Professor  R. 
Fulin,  its  latest  editor,  considers  well  worth  the  while  of 
the  patriotic  Venetian  of  to-day.  "To  compare  our  prov- 
inces at  four  centuries'  distance  with  their  present  state 
is  certainly  curious,  and  without  doubt  useful  also,"  he 
says — but  the  glimpses  between  the  lines  of  that  sprightly, 
youthful  company  is  to  us  who  are  less  seriously  con- 
cerned still  more  interesting.  "We  have  before  our 
eyes,"  adds  the  learned  professor,  "a  boy — but  a  boy 
who  begins  to  bear  very  worthily  the  name  of  Marino 


MEN   OF    LETTERS.  317 

Sanudo."  It  somewhat  disturbs  all  Marino's  commenta- 
tors, however,  that,  though  his  education  had  been  so 
good  and  classical  references  abound  in  his  writings,  yet 
his  style  is  never  so  elevated  as  his  culture.  It  is  indeed 
very  disjointed,  entirely  unstudied,  prolix,  though  full  of 
an  honest  simplicity  and  straightforwardness  which  per- 
haps commends  itself  more  to  the  English  taste  than  to 
the  Italian.  In  his  after-life  Sanudo's  power  of  production 
seemed  indeed  endless.  Besides  his  published  works,  he 
left  behind  him  fifty-six  volumes  of  his  diary,  chiefly  of 
public  events,  a  record  day  by  day  of  all  the  news  that 
came  to  Venice  and  all  that  happened  there.  It  was  by 
the  loving  care  of  the  Englishman  already  referred  to, 
Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  a  kindred  spirit,  that  portions  of 
those  wonderful  diaries  were  first  given  to  the  world. 
They  are  now  in  course  of  publication;  a  mass  of  minute 
and  inexhaustible  information,  from  the  first  aspect  of 
which  I  confess  to  have  shrunk  appalled.  This  sea  of 
facts,  of  picturesque  incidents,  of  an  eye-witness' 
sketches,  and  the  reports  of  an  immediate  actor  in  the 
scenes  described  affords  to  the  careful  student  an  almost 
unexampled  guide  and  assistance  to  the  understanding 
of  the  years  between  1482  and  1533,  from  Sanudo's  youth 
to  the  end  of  his  life. 

The  "  Vitse  Ducum,"  from  which  we  have  already 
quoted  largely,  is  full  of  the  defects  of  style  which  were 
peculiar  to  this  voluminous  writer:  they  are  charged  with 
repetitions  and  written  without  regard  to  any  rules  of 
composition  or  prejudices  of  style — but  their  descriptions 
are  often  exceedingly  picturesque  in  unadorned  simplicity, 
and  the  reflections  of  popular  belief  and  the  report  of  the 
moment  give  often,  as  the  reader  will  observe  on  turning 
back  to  our  earlier  chapters,  an  idea  of  the  manner  in 
which  an  incident  struck  the  contemporary  mind,  which 
is  exceedingly  instructive,  even  though,  as  often  happens, 
it  cannot  be  supported  by  documents  or  historical  proof. 
To  my  thinking  it  is  at  least  quite  as  interesting  to  know 
what  account  was  given  among  the  people  of  a  great 
event,  and  how  it  shaped  itself  in  the  general  mind,  as  to 
understand  the  form  it  takes  in  the  archives  of  the 
country  when  it  has  fallen  into  perspective,  and  into  the 
inevitable  subordination  of  individual  facts  to  the  broader 
views  of  history.  At  the  same  time  Sanudo's  story,  while 


318  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

keeping  this  popular  character,  is  supported  by  the  cita- 
tion of  innumerable  public  documents  to  which  he  had 
access  in  his  character  of  politician  and  magistrate;  so 
that  the  essentially  different  characteristics  of  the  legend- 
ary and  the  documentary  history  are  combined  in  this 
loosely  written,  quaintly  expressed,  most  real  and 
interesting  chronicle.  The  work  is  said  to  have  been  com- 
posed by  Sanudo  between  his  eighteenth  and  his  twenty- 
seventh  years.  The  garrulous  tone  and  rambling  narrative 
are  more  like  an  old  man  than  a  young  one;  but  it  is 
evident  that  the  instinct  of  the  chronicler,  the  minute 
and  constant  observation — the  ears  open  and  eyes  intent 
upon  every  thing  small  and  great  which  could  be  discussed, 
with  a  certain  absence  of  discrimination  between  the  im- 
portant and  the  unimportant  which  is  the  characteristic 
defect  of  these  great  qualities — was  in  him  from  the  be- 
ginning of  his  career. 

The  great  printer  Aldus  dedicated  one  of  his  publica- 
tions to  Sanudo  in  the  year  1498,  when  our  Marino  was 
but  thirty-two — in  which  already  mention  is  made,  as  of 
completed  works,  of  the  "  Magistratus  Urbis  Venetae,"  the 
"Vitis  Principium,"  and  the  "De  Bello  Gallico,"all  then 
ready  for  publication  "both  in  Latin  and  the  vulgar  tongue, 
that  they  may  be  read  by  learned  and  unlearned  alike." 
From  this  it  is  apparent  that  Sanudo  had  also  already 
begun  his  wonderful  diaries,  the  collection  of  his  great 
library,  and  the  public  life  which  would  seem  in  its  many 
activities  incompatible  with  these  ceaseless  toils.  He 
followed  all  these  pursuits,  however,  through  the  rest  of 
his  life.  His  diaries  became  the  greatest  storehouses  of 
minute  information,  perhaps,  existing  in  the  world;  his 
library  was  the  wonder  of  all  visitors  to  Venice;  and  the 
record  of  his  own  acts  and  occupations,  chronicled  along 
with  everything  else  in  his  daily  story  of  the  life  of  the 
city,  shows  a  perpetual  activity  which  takes  away  the 
beholder's  breath.  His  speeches  in  the  Senate,  generally 
recorded  as  "/<?  Marino  Sanudo  contradixi"  were  number- 
less. He  was  employed  in  all  kinds  of  public  missions 
and  work.  He  was  in  succession  a  Signore  di  Notte,  a 
Savio  degli  Ordini,  one  of  the  Pregadi,  one  of  the  Zonta, 
a  member  of  the  Senate,  Avvogadore;  exercising  the 
functions  of  magistrate,  member  of  Parliament,  states- 
man— and  taking  a  part  in  all  great  discussions  upon 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  319 

state  affairs,  whether  in  the  Senate  or  in  the  Great 
Council.  He  was,  as  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown,  using  the 
terms  natural  to  an  Englishman,  describes,  almost  always 
in  opposition — "  contradicting,"  to  use  his  own  expres- 
sion; and  for  this  reason  was  less  fortunate  than  many 
obscure  persons  whose  only  record  is  in  his  work.  Again 
and  again  he  has  to  tell  us  that  the  votes  are  given  against 
him,  that  he  comes  out  last  in  the  ballot,  that  for  a  time 
he  is  no  longer  of  the  Senate,  and  excluded  from  public 
office.  But  he  never  loses  heart  nor  withdraws  from  the 
lists.  "  lo  Marino  Sanudo  t  di  la  Zonta"  he  describes 
himself;  always  proud  of  his  position  and  eager  to  retain 
or  recover  it,  when  lost.  A  man  of  such  endless  industry, 
activity  of  mind  and  actions,  universal  interest  and  intel- 
ligence, would  be  remarkable  anywhere  and  at  any  time. 
His  first  entry  into  public  life  was  in  March,  1498 — "a 
day  to  be  held  in  eternal  memory";  a  few  months  later 
he  was  elected  Senator,  and  passed  through  various  duties 
and  offices,  always  actively  employed.  The  first  break 
in  this  busy  career  he  records  on  the  ist  of  April,  1503: 

Having  accomplished  my  term  of  service  in  the  Ordini  (Savii  degli 
Ordini),  in  which  I  have  had  five  times  the  reward  of  public  approba- 
tion, and  having  passed  out  of  the  college,  I  now  determine  that,  God 
granting  it,  I  will  let  no  day  pass  without  writing  the  news  that  comes 
from  day  to  day,  so  that  I  may  the  better,  accustoming  myself  to  the 
strict  truth,  go  on  with  my  true  history,  which  was  begun  several  years 
ago.  Seeking  no  eloquence  of  composition,  I  will  thus  note  down 
everything  as  it  happens. 

This  retirement,  however,  does  not  last  long;  for 
within  a  few  months  we  read: 

Having  been,  in  the  end  of  September,  without  any  application  on  my 
part,  or  desire  to  re-enter,  elected  by  the  grace  of  the  fathers  of  the 
Senate,  in  a  council  of  the  Pregadi,  for  the  sixth  time,  Savio  degli  Ordini, 
I  have  decided  not  to  refuse  office,  for  two  reasons.  First,  because  I 
desire  always  to  do  what  I  can  for  the  benefit  of  our  republic  ;  the 
second,  because  my  former  service  in  the  college  was  always  in  times  of 
great  tribulation  during  the  Turkish  war,  in  which  I  endured  no  little 
fatigue  of  mind.  But  now  that  peace  with  the  Turk  has  been  signed,  as 
I  have  recorded  in  the  former  book,  I  find  myself  again  in  the  college  in 
a  time  of  tranquillity  ;  therefore,  with  the  Divine  aid,  following  my 
first  determination,  I  will  describe  here  day  by  day  the  things  that 
occur,  the  plain  facts  ;  leaving  for  the  moment  every  attempt  at  an 
elaborate  style  aside. 

Other  notices  of  a  similar  kind  follow  at  intervals. 
Now  and  then  there  occur  gaps,  and  on  several  occasions 


320  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Marino  puts  on  a  little  polite  semblance  of  being  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  when  these  occur;  but  gradually, 
as  the  tide  of  public  life  seizes  him,  becomes  more  and 
more  impatient  of  exclusion,  and  ceases  to  pretend  that 
he  likes  it,  or  that  it  suits  him.  His  time  of  peace  did 
not  last  long.  The  league  of  Cambrai  rose  like  a  great 
storm  from  west  and  south  and  north,  threatening  to 
overwhelm  the  republic,  which,  as  usual  in  such  great 
dangers,  was  heavy  with  fears,  and  torn  with  intrigues 
within,  when  most  seriously  threatened  from  without. 
Sanudo  tells  us  of  an  old  senator  long  retired  from  public 
life  for  whom  the  doge  sent  in  the  horror  of  the  first  dis- 
asters, and  who,  beginning  to  weep,  said  to  his  wife, 
"Give  me  my  cloak.  I  will  go  to  the  council,  to  say 
four  words,  and  then  die."  The  troubled  council,  where 
every  man  had  some  futile  expedient  to  advise,  a  change 
of  the  Proveditori,  or  the  sending  of  a  new  commissioner 
to  the  camp  of  the  defeated,  is  put  before  us  in  a  few 
words.  Sanudo  himself  was  strongly  in  favor  of  two 
things — that  the  doge  himself  should  take  the  field,  and 
that  an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  the  Turk  to  ask  for 
help.  He  gives  a  melancholy  description  of  the  great 
Ascension  Day,  the  holiday  of  the  year,  which  fell  at  this 
miserable  moment  when  the  forces  of  the  republic  were 
in  full  rout,  retreating  from  point  to  point. 

17  May,  1509. — It  was  Ascension  Day  [La  Sensa],but  there  was  noth- 
ing but  weeping.  No  visitors  were  to  be  heard  of,  no  one  was  visible 
in  the  Piazza  ;  the  fathers  of  the  college  were  broken  down  with  trouble, 
and  still  more  our  doge,  who  never  spoke,  but  looked  like  a  dead  man. 
And  much  was  said  for  this  last  time  of  sending  the  doge  in  person  to 
Verona,  to  encourage  our  army  and  our  people  there,  and  to  send  five 
hundred  gentlemen,  with  his  Serenity,  at  their  own  expense.  Thus  the 
talk  went  in  the  Piazza,  and  on  the  benches  of  the  Pregadi,  but  those  of 
the  college  [of  senators]  took  no  action,  nor  did  the  doge  offer  himself. 
He  said,  however,  to  his  sons  and  dependents,  "  The  doge  will  do  what- 
ever the  country  desires."  At  the  same  time  he  is  more  dead  than  alive  ; 
he  is  seventy-three.  Thus  those  evil  days  go  on  ;  we  see  our  own  ruin, 
and  do  nothing  to  prevent  it.  God  grant  that  what  I  proposed  had  been 
done.  I  had  desired  to  re-enter  as  a  Savio  degli  Ordini,  but  was 
advised  against  it,  and  now  I  am  very  sorry  not  to  have  carried  out  my 
wish,  to  have  procured  five  or  six  thousand  Turks,  and  sent  a  secretary 
or  ambassador  to  the  Sultan  ;  but  now  it  is  too  late. 

Sanudo's  project  of  calling  in  the  Turks,  their  ancient 
enemies,  to  help  them  against  the  league  of  Christian 
princes,  seemed  a  dangerous  expedient,  but  it  must  be 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  321 

remembered  that  the  republic  was  in  despair.  The  poor 
old  doge,  who  was  more  dead  than  alive,  yet  ready  to  do 
whatever  the  country  wished,  was  Leonardo  Loredano, 
whose  portrait  is  so  notable  an  object  in  our  own  National 
Gallery.  In  the  midstof  all  these  troubles,  however,  while 
the  Venetian  statesmen  were  making  anxious  visits  to  their 
nearest  garrison,  and  reviewing  and  collecting  every  band 
they  could  get  together,  the  familiar  strain  of  common 
life  comes  in  with  such  a  paragraph  as  the  following: 

IT  July,  1509. — On  the  way  to  my  house  I  met  a  man  having  a 
beautiful  Hebrew  Bible  in  good  paper,  value  twenty  ducats,  who  sold  it  to 
me  as  a  favor  for  one  marzello  ;  which  I  took  to  place  it  in  my  library. 

We  are  unable  to  say  what  was  the  value  of  a  marzello; 
but  it  is  evident  that  he  got  his  Bible  a  great  bargain, 
taking  in  this  case  a  little  permissible  advantage  of  the 
troubles  of  the  time. 

There  is  something  calming  and  composing  to  the  mind 
in  a  long  record  like  this  extending  over  many  years. 
There  occurs  the  episode  of  a  great  war,  of  many  priva- 
tions, misfortunes,  and  bereavements,  such  as  seem  to 
cover  the  whole  world  with  gloom;  but  we  have  only  to- 
turn  a  few  pages,  however  agitated,  however  moving  may 
be  the  record,  and.  we  find  the  state,  the  individual 
sufferer,  whosoever  it  may  be,  going  on  calmly  about  the 
ordinary  daily  businesses  of  life,  and  the  storm  gone  by. 
These  storms  and  wars  and  catastrophes  are  after  all  but 
accidents  in  the  calmer  career  which  fills  all  the  undis- 
tinguished nights  and  days,  only  opening  here  and  there 
to  reveal  one  which  is  full  of  trouble,  which  comes  and 
departs  again.  History,  indeed,  makes  more  of  these 
episodes  than  life  does,  for  they  are  her  mile-stones  by 
which  to  guide  her  path  through  the  dim  multitude  of 
uneventful  days.  Our  historian,  however,  in  his  endless 
record,  gives  the  small  events  of  peace  almost  as  much 
importance  as  the  confusion  and  excitement  of  the 
desperate  moment  when  Venice  stood  against  all  Europe, 
holding  her  own. 

Sanudo's  public  life  was  one  of  continual  ups  and 
downs.  He  would  seem  to  have  been  a  determined  con- 
servative, opposing  every  innovation,  though  at  the  same 
time,  like  many  men  of  that  opinion,  exceedingly  daring 
in  any  suggestion  that  approved  itself  to  his  mind ;  as  for 


322  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

instance  in  respect  to  asking  aid  from  the  Turks,  which 
was  not  a  step  likely  to  commend  itself  to  a  patriot  of  his 
principles.  And  he  would  not  seem  to  have  been  very 
popular  even  among  his  own  kindred,  for  there  are  vari- 
ous allusions  to  family  intrigues  against  him,  as  well  as 
to  the  failure  of  his  hopes  in  respect  to  elections  and 
appointments.  But  that  extraordinarily  limited,  intense 
life  of  the  Venetian  oligarchy,  a  world  pent  up  within  a 
city,  with  all  its  subtle  trains  of  diplomacy,  determined 
independence  on  its  own  side,  and  equally  determined 
desire  to  have  something  to  say  in  every  European 
imbroglio,  was  naturally  a  life  full  of  intrigue,  of  per- 
petual risings  and  fallings,  where  every  man  had  to 
sustain  discomfiture  in  his  day,  and  was  ready  to  trip  up 
his  neighbor  whenever  occasion  served.  Marino's  inclina- 
tion to  take  in  all  matters  a  side  of  his  own  was  not  a 
popular  quality,  and  it  is  evident  that,  like  many  other 
obstinate  and  clear-sighted  protesters,  he  was  often  right, 
often  enough  at  least  to  make  him  an  alarming  critic  and 
troublesome  disturber  of  existing  parties,  being  at  all 
times,  like  the  smith  of  Perth,  for  his  own  hand.  "  I, 
Marino  Sanudo,  moved  by  my  conscience,  went  to  the 
meeting  and  opposed  the  new  proposals,"  andai  in  renga 
et  contradixi  a  questo  modo  nove,  is  a  statement  which  is 
continually  recurring.  And  as  the  long  list  of  volumes 
grows,  there  is  a  preface  to  almost  every  new  year,  in 
which  he  complains,  explains,  defends  his  actions,  and 
appeals  against  unfavorable  judgments,  sometimes 
threatening  to  relinquish  his  toils,  taking  them  up  again, 
consoling  himself  by  the  utterance  of  his  complaint.  On 
one  occasion  he  thanks  God  that  notwithstanding  much 
illness  he  still  remains  able  "  to  do  something  in  this  age  in 
honor  of  the  eternal  majesty  and  exaltation  of  the  Vene- 
tian State,  to  which  I  can  never  fail,  being  born  in  that  alle- 
giance, for  which  I  would  die  a  thousand  times  if  that  could 
advantage  my  country,  notwithstanding  that  I  have  been 
beaten,  worn  out,  and  evil  entreated  in  her  councils." 

In  the  past  year  [1522]  I  have  been  dismissed  from  the  Giunta  [Zonta], 
of  which  two  years  ago  I  was  made  a  member  ;  but  while  I  sat  in  that 
Senate  I  always  in  my  speeches  did  my  best  for  my  country,  with  full 
honor  from  the  senators  for  my  opinions  and  judgment,  even  when 
against  those  of  my  colleagues.  And  this  is  the  thing  that  has  injured 
me  ;  for  had  I  been  mute,  applauding  individuals  as  is  the  present 
fashion,  letting  things  pass  that  are  against  the  interest  of  my  dearest 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  323 

country,  acting  contrary  to  the  law,  as  those  who  have  the  guidance  of 
the  city  permit  to  be  done,  even  had  I  not  been  made  Avvogadore,  I 
should  have  been  otherwise  treated.  But  seeing  all  silent,  my  conscience 
pushing  me  to  make  me  speak,  since  God  has  granted  me  good  utterance, 
an  excellent  memory,  and  much  knowledge  of  things,  having  described 
them  for  so  many  years,  and  seen  all  the  records  of  public  business,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  should  sin  against  myself  if  I  did  not  deliver  my 
opinion  in  respect  to  the  questions  discussed,  knowing  that  those  who 
took  the  other  side  complained  of  being  opposed,  because  they  hoped  to 
reap  some  benefit  from  the  proposals  in  question.  But  I  caring  only  for 
the  public  advantage,  all  seemed  to  me  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
good  of  my  country.  .  .  I  confess  that  this  repulse  has  caused  me  no 
small  grief,  and  has  been  the  occasion  of  my  illness  ;  and  if  again  I  was 
rejected  in  the  ballot  for  the  past  year  it  was  little  wonder,  seeing  that 
many  thought  me  dead,  or  so  infirm  that  I  was  no  longer  good  for  any- 
thing, not  having  stirred  from  my  house  for  many  months  before.  But 
the  Divine  bounty  has  still  preserved  me,  and,  as  I  have  said,  enabled 
me  to  complete  the  diary  of  the  year  ;  for  however  suffering  I  was  I  never 
failed  to  record  the  news  of  every  day  which  was  brought  to  me  by  my 
friends,  so  that  another  volume  is  finished.  I  had  some  thought  of  now 
giving  up  this  laborious  work,  but  some  of  my  countrymen  who  love  me 
say  to  me,  "  Marin,  make  no  mistake  ;  follow  the  way  you  have  begun  ; 
remember  moglie  e  magistrate  %  del  del  destinato  "  (marriages  and  magis- 
trates are  made  in  heaven). 

In  another  of  these  many  prefaces,  Sanudo  reflects  that 
he  has  now  attained  his  fifty-fifth  year,  and  that  it  is  time 
to  stop  this  incessant  making  of  notes,  and  to  set  himself 
to  the  work  of  polishing  and  setting  forth  in  a  more  care- 
ful style,  and  in  the  form  of  dignified  history,  his  mass  of 
material,  "being  now  of  the  number  of  the  Senators  of 
the  Giunta  and  engaged  in  many  cares  and  occupations  ": 

But  I  am  persuaded  by  one  who  has  a  right  to  command,  by  the  noble 
lord  Lorenzo  Loredano,  procurator,  son  of  our  Most  Serene  Prince,  who 
many  times  has  exhorted  me  not  to  give  up  the  work  which  I  have  begun, 
saying  that  in  the  end  it  will  bring  me  glory  and  perpetual  fame ;  and 
praying  me  at  least  to  continue  it  during  the  lifetime  of  his  Serene  father, 
who  has  been  our  doge  for  nineteen  years,  who  has  been  in  many  labors 
for  the  republic,  and  having  regained  a  great  part  of  all  that  had  been 
lost  in  the  late  great  and  terrible  war,  now  waits  the  conclusion  of  all 
things,  being  of  the  age  of  eighty-four.  He  cannot  be  expected  to  live 
long,  although  of  a  perfect  constitution,  lately  recovered  from  a  serious 
illness,  and  never  absent  from  the  meetings  of  the  Senate  or  council,  or 
failing  in  anything  that  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  state.  For  these  reasons 
I  have  resolved  not  to  relinquish  the  work  which  I  have  begun,  nor  to 
neglect  that  which  I  know  will  be  of  great  use  to  posterity,  the  highest 
honor  to  my  country,  and  to  myself  an  everlasting  memorial. 

Thus  our  chronicler  over  and  over  again  persuades 
himself  to  continue  and  accomplish  what  it  was  the 
greatest  happiness  and  first  impulse  of  his  life  to  do. 


324  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

It  was  when  the  great  war  against  the  League  was 
over,  and  all  had  returned  in  peace  to  their  usual  occu- 
pations, Sanudo  to  the  library  which  he  was  gradually 
making  into  one  of  the  wonders  of  Venice,  and  to  his 
still  more  wonderful  work,  that  the  Senate  executed  that 
job — if  we  may  be  allowed  the  word — and  elected  young 
Navagero,  because  he  was  so  poor,  to  the  office,  hereto- 
fore only  an  imagination,  of  historian  of  the  republic. 
Marino  was  nearly  fifty,  and  still  in  the  full  heat  of 
political  life,  giving  his  opinion  on  every  subject,  "con- 
tradicting "  freely,  and  taking  nothing  for  granted,  when 
this  appointment  was  made;  and  there  is  no  doubt  that 
to  be  passed  over  thus  f6r  so  much  younger  and  less 
important  a  man  must  have  been  a  great  mortification 
for  the  indefatigable  chronicler  of  every  national  event. 
He  speaks  with  a  certain  quiet  scorn  in  one  place  of 
Messer  Andrea  Navagero  stipendiate  pubblico  per  scrivere  la 
Historia.  Nor  was  this  the  only  wrong  done  him,  for 
the  successor  appointed  to  Navagero,  after  a  long  interval 
of  time,  it  would  appear,  was  another  man  with  opportu- 
nities and  faculties  much  less  appropriate  than  his  own, 
the  learned  dilettante,  Pietro  Bembo,  afterward  cardinal. 
Bembo  had  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life  out  of 
Venice:  in  Rome,  at  the  court  of  the  Pope,  where  he  filled 
some  important  offices;  at  Padua,  which  was  his  home  in 
his  later  years;  at  the  court  of  Mantua  at  the  period 
when  that  court  was  the  center  of  cultivation  and  fine 
sentiment.  Indeed,  we  find  only  occasional  traces  of 
him  at  Venice;  though  one  of  his  first  works  was  about 
the  fantastic  little  court  of  Queen  Catherine  Cornaro,  at 
Asolo,  a  small  Decameron,  full  of  the  unreal  prettiness, 
the  masques,  and  posturing,  and  versifications  of  the 
time.  It  was  to  this  man  that  in  the  second  place  the 
office  of  historian  was  given  over  the  head  of  our  Marino; 
nor  was  this  the  only  vexation  to  which  he  was  exposed. 
One  of  the  documents  quoted  by  Mr.  Rawdon  Brown  is 
a  letter  from  Bembo,  an  appeal  to  the  doge  to  compel 
Sanudo  to  open  to  him  the  treasures  of  his  collection, 
one  of  the  most  curious  demands,  perhaps,  that  were  ever 
made.  It  is  dated  from  Padua,  the  7th  August,  1531, 
and  shows  that  not  even  for  the  writing  of  the  history 
did  this  official  of  the  Senate  remove  his  dwelling  to 
Venice. 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  325 

Serene  Prince,  my  lord  always  honored.  Last  winter,  when  I  was  in 
Venice,  I  saw  the  histories  of  Messer  Marin  Sanudo,  and  it  appeared  to 
me  that  they  were  of  a  quality,  though  including  much  that  is  unneces- 
sary, to  give  me  light  on  an  infinite  number  of  things  needful  for  me  in 
carrying  out  the  work  committed  to  my  hands  by  your  Serenity.  I 
begged  of  him  to  allow  me  to  read  and  go  over  these,  as  might  be  neces- 
sary for  my  work  ;  to  which  he  replied  that  these  books  were  the  care 
and  labor  of  his  whole  life,  and  that  he  would  not  give  the  sweat  of  his 
brow  to  anyone.  Upon  which  I  went  away  with  the  intention  of  doing 
without  them,  though  I  did  not  see  how  it  would  be  possible.  Now 
I  perceive  that  if  I  must  see  the  public  letters  of  your  Serenity  in  order 
to  understand  many  things  contained  in  the  books  of  the  Senate,  which 
are  very  necessary  for  the  true  understanding  of  the  acts  of  this  illustrious 
Dominion,  this  labor  will  be  a  thing  impossible  to  me,  and,  if  possible, 
would  be  infinite.  Wherefore  I  entreat  your  Serenity  to  exercise  your 
authority  with  Messer  Marin  to  let  me  have  his  books  in  my  own  hands 
according  as  it  shall  be  necessary  ;  pledging  myself  to  return  them  safe 
and  unhurt. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  visible  invidiousness  of  this  appeal, 
the  demand  upon  a  man  who  had  been  passed  over,  for 
the  use  of  his  collections  in  the  execution  of  a  work 
for  which  he  was  so  much  better  qualified  than  the  actual 
holder  of  the  office,  which  shamed  the  Senate  at  last  into 
according  to  Marino  a  certain  recompense  for  his  toil. 
Mr.  Rawdon  Brown  makes  it  evident  that  this  allowance 
or  salary  came  very  late  in  the  life  of  the  neglected  his- 
torian. The  Council  of  Ten  gave  him  a  hundred  and 
fifty  ducats  a  year  as  an  acknowledgment  of  the  exist- 
ence of  his  books,  "which  I  vow  to  God,"  he  says,  "is 
nothing  to  the  great  labor  they  have  cost  me."  It  is  but 
a  conjecture,  but  it  does  not  seem  without  probability, 
that  the  rulers  of  the  republic  may  have  been  shamed 
into  bestowing  this  provision  by  Bembo's  peevish  appeal, 
and  that,  mollified  by  the  grant,  Marino  permitted  the 
use  of  his  sudori,  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  the  labor  of  his 
life,  to  the  official  historian,  whose  work  even  Foscarini, 
dry  himself  to  the  utmost  permissible  limit  of  aridity, 
confesses  to  be  very  dry,  and  which  possesses  nothing  of 
the  charm  of  natural  animation  and  verisimilitude  which  is 
in  Sanudo's  rough,  confused,  and  often  chaotic  narrative. 

This  wonderful  work  was  carried  on  till  the  year  1533, 
and  finally  filled  fifty-six  large  volumes,  the  history  of 
every  day  being  brought  down  to  within  two  years  and 
a  half  of  the  author's  death.  He  left  this  extraordinary 
collection  to  the  republic  in  a  will  dated  4th  December, 
J533>  immediately  after  the  close  of  the  record. 


326  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

I  desire  and  ordain  that  all  my  books  of  the  history  and  events  of 
Italy  written  with  my  own  hand,  beginning  with  the  coming  of  King 
Charles  of  France  into  Italy,  books  bound  and  inclosed  in  a  bookcase 
to  the  number  of  fifty-six,  should  be  for  my  illustrious  Signoria,  to  be 
presented  to  them  by  my  executors,  and  placed  wherever  it  seems  to 
them  good  by  the  Heads  of  the  Council  of  Ten,  by  which  excellent 
council  an  allowance  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  ducats  a  year  was  made  to 
me,  which  I  swear  before  God  is  nothing  to  the  great  labor  I  have  had. 

Also  I  will  and  ordain  that  all  my  other  printed  books,  which  are  in 
my  great  study  downstairs,  and  those  manuscripts  which  are  in  my  book- 
cases (armeri,  Scottice,  aumries)  in  my  chamber,  which  are  more  than 
6500  in  number,  which  have  cost  me  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  are 
very  fine  and  genuine,  many  of  them  impossible  to  replace  ;  of  which 
there  is  an  inventory  marked  with  the  price  I  paid  for  each  (those  which 
have  a  cross  opposite  the  name  I  sold  in  the  time  of  my  poverty) :  I 
desire  my  executors  that  they  should  all  be  sold  by  public  auction.  And 
I  pray  my  Lords  Procurators,  or  Gastaldi,  not  to  permit  these  books  to 
be  thrown  away,  especially  those  in  manuscript,  which  are  very  fine  and 
have  cost  me  a  great  deal,  as  will  be  seen  in  the  inventory  ;  and  those 
in  boards  and  the  works  printed  in  Germany  have  also  cost  me  no  small 
sum.  And  I  made  so  much  expenditure  in  books  because  I  wished  to 
form  a  library  in  some  monastery,  or  to  find  a  place  for  some  of  them 
in  the  library  of  S.  Marco  ;  but  this  library  I  no  longer  believe  in, 
therefore,  I  have  changed  my  mind  and  wish  everything  to  be  sold — 
which  books  are  now  of  more  value  than  when  I  bought  them,  having 
purchased  them  advantageously  in  times  of  famine,  and  having  had  great 
bargains  of  them.  Wherefore,  Messer  Zanbatista  Egnazio  and  Messer 
Antonio  di  Marsilio,  seeing  the  index,  will  be  able  to  form  an  estimate, 
and  not  allow  them  to  be  thrown  away,  as  is  the  custom. 

This  resolution  was  taken  because  the  new  library  of 
S.  Marco,  so  long  promised  to  the  Venetians,  had  not 
yet  been  begun;  and  the  old  collector,  loving  his  books 
as  if  they  had  been  his  children,  had  evidently  lost  heart 
and  faith  in  any  undertaking  of  this  kind  being  carried 
out  in  Venice.  No  doubt  he  had  heard  of  the  legacy 
made  by  Petrarch  two  hundred  years  before  to  the  re- 
public, and  how  it  had  disappeared,  if  not  that  the 
rotting  remains  of  the  poet's  bequest  still  lay  in  the 
chamber  on  the  roof  of  S.  Marco,  where  they  had  been 
thrown  with  a  carelessness  which  looks  very  much  like 
contempt,  and  as  if  the  busy  city  had  no  time  for  such 
vanities.  The  sale  of  his  books  would  at  least  pay  his 
creditors  and  be  an  inheritance  for  the  nephews  who  had 
taken  the  place  of  children  to  him,  yet  were  not  too 
grateful  for  his  care.  The  fifty-six  volumes  in  the 
great  oak  press,  however,  profited  scarcely  more  than 
Petrarch's  gift  from  being  placed  in  the  custody  of  the 
tremendous  Ten.  They  were  deposited  somewhere  out 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  327 

of  reach  of  harm,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  after  the  author's 
death,  but  were  so  completely  lost  sight  of  that  the  con- 
scientious Foscarini  makes  as  little  account  of  Marino 
Sanudo  as  if  he  had  been  but  a  mere  chronicler  of  the 
lives  of  certain  doges,  with  a  wealth  of  documentary 
evidence  indeed,  but  no  refinement  of  style  nor  special 
importance  as  a  chronicler.  'It  was  not  till  the  year 
1805  that  these  books  were  found,  in  the  Royal  Library 
at  Vienna,  got  there,  nobody  knows  how,  in  some  acci- 
dent of  the  centuries.  They  are  now  being  printed  in 
all  their  amplitude,  as  has  been  already  said;  a  mine  of 
incalculable  historic  wealth. 

During  the  whole  time  of  their  composition  Sanudo 
was  a  public  official  and  magistrate,  taking  the  most 
active  part  in  all  the  business  of  his  time.  And  he  was 
also  a  collector,  filling  his  library  with  everything  he 
could  find  to  illustrate  his  work,  from  the  great  mappa- 
mondO)  which  was  one  of  the  chief  wonders  of  his  study, 
down  to  drawings  of  costumes,  and  of  the  animals  and 
flowers  of  those  subject  provinces  of  Venice  which  he 
had  visited  in  his  gay  youth,  where  he  had  found  his  first 
love,  and  which,  in  later  days,  he  had  seen  lost  and  won 
again.  "The  illustrious  strangers  who  visited  Venice 
in  these  days  went  away  dissatisfied  unless  they  had  seen 
the  Arsenal,  the  jewels  of  S.  Marco,  and  the  library  of 
Sanudo."  On  one  occasion  he  himself  tells  of  a  wander- 
ing prince  who  sent  to  ask  if  he  might  see  this  collection, 
and  above  all  its  owner;  but  Marino  was  out  of  humor 
or  tired  of  illustrious  visitors,  and  refused  to  receive 
him.  Some  of  these  visitors,  quoted  by  the  learned 
Professor  Fulin,  have  left  records  of  their  visits,  and  of 
how  they  came  out  of  the  modest  house  of  the  historian 
stupefied  with  wonder  and  admiration.  "Stupefied  cer- 
tainly," adds  the  professor,  "was  that  gentleman  of 
Vicenza,  Federico  da  Porto,  who  exclaims  in  his  poem 
on  the  subject,  '  He  who  would  see  the  sea,  the  earth, 
and  the  vast  world,  must  seek  your  house,  O  learned 
Marino!" 

Sanudo  had  indeed  collected  a  series,  marvelous  for  his  time,  of 
pictures  (whether  drawn,  painted,  or  engraved  we  cannot  now  ascertain), 
in  which  were  represented  not  only  the  different  forms  of  the  principal 
European  nations,  but  the  ethnographical  varieties  of  the  human  race 
in  the  Old  World,  and  also  in  the  New,  then  recently  discovered.  Da 
Porto  continues  as  follows : 


328  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

"  Then  up  the  stairs  you  lead  us,  and  we  find 
A  spacious  corridor  before  us  spread, 
As  if  it  were  another  ocean  full 
Of  rarest  things  ;  the  wall  invisible 
With  curious  pictures  hid — no  blank  appears, 
But  various  figures,  men  of  every  guise  ; 
A  thousand  unaccustomed  scenes  we  see. 
Here  Spain,  there  Greece,  and  here  the  apparel  fair 
Of  France  ;  nor  is  there  any  land  left  out. 
The  New  World,  with  its  scarce  known  tribes,  is  there. 
Nor  is  there  any  place  so  far  remote 
That  does  not  send  some  envoy  to  your  walls. 
Or  can  refuse  to  show  its  wonders  there." 

A  great  picture  of  Verona,  where  Marino  had  filled  the 
office  of  Camerlengo,  and  where  the  uncle  who  stood  to 
him  in  place  of  a  father  was  captain,  seems  to  have  been 
a  special  attraction,  and  is  celebrated  by  many  visitors 
in  very  bad  Latin.  We  are  obliged  to  admit  that  the 
description  of  the  collection  sounds  very  much  like  that 
of  a  popular  museum,  and  does  not  at  all  resemble  the 
high  art  which  we  should  expect  from  such  a  connoisseur 
nowadays.  But  probably  the  things  with  which  we  should 
fill  our  shelves  and  niches  were  the  merest  commonplaces 
to  Sanudo,  to  whom  the  different  fashions  of  men,  and 
their  dresses  and  their  ways,  and  their  dwellings  (his  own 
youthful  "  Itinerario"  is  illustrated  by  sketches  of  towns 
and  houses  and  fortifications,  in  the  style  of  the  nursery), 
would  be  infinitely  more  interesting  than  those  art  products 
of  his  own  time,  which  form  our  delight.  His  books, 
however,  were  the  most  dear  of  all;  and  the  glimpse  we 
have  of  the  old  man  seated  among  his  ancient  tomes,  so 
carefully  catalogued  and  laid  up  in  these  great  wooden 
armert,  no  doubt  rich  with  carving,  and  for  one  of  which 
a  nineteenth  century  collector  would  give  his  little  finger, 
though  they  are  not  worth  thinking  of,  mere  furniture  to 
Marino,  is  most  interesting  and  attractive.  With  what 
pleasure  he  must  have  drawn  forth  his  pen  when  he  came 
in  from  the  council,  having  happily  delivered  himself  of  a 
lungo  e perfetta  rcnga,  to  put  it  all  down — how  he  held  out 
against  the  payment  of  the  magistrates,  for  example,  and 
contradicted  every  modo  novo;  or  when  sick  and  infirm 
himself,  the  quiet  of  the  study  was  broken  by  one  after 
another  visitor  in  toga  or  scarlet  gown,  fresh  from 
the  excitements  of  the  contest;  recounting  how,  at  the 
fifteenth  hour,  has  come  a  messenger  with  news  from 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  329 

the  camp,  or  a  galley  all  adorned  with  green,  bearing 
the  report  of  a  victory!  The  old  man  with  his  huge  book 
spread  out,  his  ink-horn  always  ready,  his  every  sense 
acute,  his  mind  filled  with  parallel  cases,  with  a  hundred 
comparisons,  and  that  delightful  conviction  that  it  was 
not  only  for  the  benefit  of  the  carissima  patria,  but  for 
his  own  eternal  fame  and  glory,  that  he  continued  page 
by  page  and  day  by  day,  furnishes  us  with  a  picture 
•characteristically  Venetian,  inspired  by  the  finest 
instincts  of  his  race.  He  was  no  meek  recluse  or 
humble  scribe,  but  a  statesman  fully  capable  of  hold- 
ing his  own,  and  with  no  small  confidence  in  his  own 
opinion;  yet  the  glory  of  Venice  is  his  motive  above 
all  others,  and  the  building  up  of  the  fame  of  the  city 
for  whose  benefit  he  would  die  a  thousand  times,  as 
he  says,  and  for  whose  honor  he  continues  day  after 
day  and  year  after  year  his  endless  and  tardily  acknowl- 
edged toils.  Would  it  have  damped  his  zeal,  we  wonder, 
could  he  have  foreseen  that  his  unexampled  work  should 
•drop  into  oblivion,  after  historians  such  as  the  best 
informed  of  doges,  Marco  Foscarini,  knowing  next  to 
nothing  of  him  till  suddenly  a  lucky  and  delighted 
student  fell  upon  those  great  volumes  in  the  Austrian 
Library;  and  all  at  once,  after  three  centuries  and 
more,  old  Venice  sprang  to  light  under  the  hand  of  her 
old  chronicler,  and  Marino  Sanudo  with  all  his  pictures, 
his  knickknacks,  his  brown  rolls  of  manuscript  and  dusty 
volumes  round  him,  regained,  as  was  his  right,  the  first 
place  among  Venetian  historians — one  of  the  most  notable 
figures  of  the  mediaeval  world. 

Sanudo  died  in  1539,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three,  poor, 
as  would  seem  from  his  will,  in  which,  though  he  has 
several  properties  to  bequeath,  he  has  to  commit  the 
payment  of  his  faithful  servants,  especially  a  certain 
Anna  of  Padua,  who  had  nursed  and  cared  for  him  for 
twenty  years  ("who  is  much  my  creditor,  for  I  have 
not  had  the  means  to  pay  her,  though  she  has  never 
failed  in  her  service  "),  to  his  executors  as  the  first  thing 
to  be  done,  primo  et  ante  omnium,  after  the  sale  of  his 
effects.  But  he  would  seem  to  have  had  anticipations 
of  a  satisfactory  conclusion  to  his  affairs,  since  he  orders 
for  himself  a  marble  sepulcher,  to  be  erected  in  the 
Church  of  S.  Zaccaria,  with  the  following  inscription: 


330  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

NE  TU  HOC  DESPICE  QUOD  VIDES  SEPULCHRUM 
SEU  SIS  ADVENA,  SEU  URBANUS. 

OSSA  SUNT  HIC  SITA 
MARINI  SANUTI  LEONARDI  FILII 

SENATORIS  CLARISSIMI, 
RERUM  ANTIQUARUM  INDAGATORIS 
HISTORIE  VENETORUM  EX  PUBLICO  DECRETO 

SCRIPTORIS  SOLERTISSIMI. 
HOC  VOLUI  TE  SCIRE,  NUNC  BENE  VADE. 
VALE. 

Some  time  afterward,  however,  the  old  man,  perhaps 
losing  heart,  finding  his  books  and  his  curiosities  less 
thought  of  than  he  had  hoped,  gives  up  the  marble 
sarcophagus  so  dear  to  his  age,  and  bids  them  bury  him 
where  he  falls,  either  at  S.  Zaccaria  with  his  fathers,  or 
at  S.  Francisco  della  Vigna  where  his  mother  lies,  he  no 
longer  cares  which;  but  he  still  clings  to  his  epitaph, 
the  eterna  memoria  with  which  he  had  comforted  himself 
through  all  his  toils.  Alas!  it  has  been  with  his  bodily 
remains  as  for  three  centuries  with  those  of  his  mind 
and  spirit.  No  one  knows  where  the  historian  lies.  His 
house,  with  his  stemma,  the  arms  of  the  Ca'  Sanudo,  still 
Stands  in  the  parish  of  S.  Giacomo  dell'  Orio,  behind  the 
Fondaco  dei  Turchi,  an  ancient  house,  once  divided  into 
three  for  the  use  of  the  different  branches  of  an  important 
family,  now  fallen  out  of  all  knowledge  of  the  race,  and 
long  left  without  even  a  stone  to  commemorate  Marino- 
Sanudo's  name.  This  neglect  has  now  been  remedied, 
not  by  Venice,  but  by  the  loving  care  of  Mr.  Rawdon 
Brown,  the  first  interpreter  and  biographer  of  this  long- 
forgotten  name.  The  municipality  of  Venice  is  fond 
of  placing  Lapide  on  every  point  of  vantage,  but  the 
anxious  exhortations  of  our  countryman  did  not  succeed 
in  inducing  the  then  authorities  to  give  this  tribute  to 
their  illustrious  historian. 

Since  that  period,  however,  his  place  in  his  beloved  city 
has  been  fully  established,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  think  that 
it  was  an  Englishman  who  was  the  first  to  claim  everlast- 
ing remembrance,  the  reward  which  he  desired  above  all 
others,  for  the  name  of  Marino  Sanudo^  of  all  the  his- 
torians of  Vciilce  the  greatest,  the  most  unwearied,  and 
the  best. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ALDUS   AND    THE    ALDINES. 

IN  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  all  the  arts 
were  coming  to  their  climax,  notwithstanding  the  echoes 
of  war  and  contention  that  were  never  silent,  and  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  republic  had  often  hard  ado  to  hold 
her  own,  Venice  suddenly  became  the  chief  center  of 
literary  effort  in  Italy,  or  we  might  say,  at  that  moment, 
in  the  world.  Her  comparative  seclusion  from  actual 
personal  danger,  defended  as  she  was  like  England  by 
something  much  more  like  a  "silver  streak"  than  our 
stormy  Channel,  had  long  made  the  city  a  haven  of 
peace,  such  as  Petrarch  found  it,  for  men  of  letters;  and 
the  freedom  of  speech,  of  which  that  poet  experienced 
both  the  good  and  evil,  naturally  attracted  many  to 
whom  literary  communion  and  controversy  were  the 
chief  pleasures  in  life.  It  was  not,  however,  from  any  of 
her  native  literati  that  the  new  impulse  came.  A  certain 
Theobaldo  Manucci,  or  Mannutio — familiarly  addressed, 
as  is  still  common  in  Italy,  as  Messer  or  Ser  Aldo — born 
at  the  little  town  of  Bassiano  near  Rome,  and  con- 
sequently calling  himself  Romano,  had  been  for  some 
time  connected  with  the  family  of  the  Pii,  princes  of 
Carpi,  as  tutor.  The  dates  are  confused  and  the  in- 
formation uncertain  at  this  period  of  his  career.  One  of 
his  earlier  biographers,  Manni,  introduces  Aide's  former 
pupil  as  a  man  able  to  enter  into  literary  discussions  and 
take  a  part  in  the  origination  of  great  plans,  whereas 
Renouard,  the  accomplished  author  of  the  "  Annales  de 
ITmprimerie  des  Aides,"  speaks  of  Alberto  as  a  boy,  pre- 
cocious, as  was  not  unusual  to  the  time,  but  still  in 
extreme  youth,  when  the  new  turn  was  given  to  his 
preceptor's  thoughts.  The  natural  conclusion  from  the 
facts  would  be  that,  having  completed  his  educational 
work  at  Carpi,  Aldo  had  gone  to  Ferrara  to  continue  his 
studies  in  Greek,  and  when  driven  away  by  the  siege  of 
that  city  had  taken  refuge  with  Count  Giovanni  Pico  at 

331 


332  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Mirandola,  and  from  thence,  in  company  with  that  young 
and  brilliant  scholar,  had  returned  to  his  former  home 
and  pupil — where  there  ensued  much  consultation  and 
many  plans  in  the  intervals  of  the  learned  talk  between 
these  philosophers,  as  to  what  the  poor  man  of  letters 
was  now  to  do  for  his  own  living  and  the  furtherance  of 
knowledge  in  Italy.  Probably  the  want  of  text-books, 
the  difficulty  of  obtaining  books  of  any  kind,  the  incor- 
rectness of  those  that  could  be  procured,  the  need  of 
grammars,  dictionaries,  and  all  the  tools  of  learning, 
which  would  be  doubly  apparent  if  the  young  Alberto, 
heir  of  the  house,  was  then  in  the  midst  of  his  educa- 
tion, led  the  conversation  of  the  elders  to  this  subject. 
Count  Pico  was  one  of  the  best  scholars  of  his  time,  very 
precocious  as  a  boy  and  in  his  maturity  still  holding 
learning  to  be  most  excellent;  and  Messer  Aldo  was  well 
aware  of  all  the  practical  disadvantages  with  which  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  was  surrounded,  having  been 
himself  badly  trained  in  the  rules  of  an  old-fashioned 
"Doctrinale,"  "a  stupid  and  obscure  book  written  in 
barbarous  verse."  Their  talk  at  last  would  seem  to  have 
culminated  in  a  distinct  plan.  Aldo  was  no  enterprising 
tradesman  or  speculator  bent  on  money-making.  But 
his  educational  work  would  seem  to  have  been  brought 
to  a  temporary  pause,  and  in  the  learned  leisure  of  the 
little  principality,  in  the  fine  company  of  the  princely 
scholars  who  could  both  understand  and  help,  some  lurk- 
ing desires  and  hopes  no  doubt  sprang  into  being.  To  fill 
the  world  with  the  best  of  books,  free  from  the  blemishes 
of  incorrect  transcription,  or  the  print  which  was 
scarcely  more  trustworthy — what  a  fine  occupation,  better 
far  than  the  finest  influence  upon  the  mind  of  one  pupil, 
however  illustrious!  The  scheme  would  grow,  and  one 
detail  after  another  would  be  added  in  the  conversation, 
which  must  have  become  more  and  more  interesting  as 
this  now  exciting  project  shaped  itself.  We  can  hardly 
imagine  that  the  noble  house  in  which  the  scheme  origi- 
nated, and  the  brilliant  visitor  under  whose  auspices  it 
was  formed,  did  not  promise  substantial  aid  in  an  under- 
taking which  the  learned  tutor  had  naturally  no  power 
of  carrying  out  by  himself;  and  when  all  the  other  pre- 
liminaries were  settled,  Venice  was  fixed  upon  as  the 
fit  place  for  the  enterprise.  Pico  was  a  Florentine,  Aldo 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  333 

a  Roman,  but  there  seems  to  have  existed  no  doubt  in 
their  minds  as  to  the  best  center  for  this  great  scheme. 

The  date  of  Aide's  settlement  in  Venice  is  uncertain,  like 
many  other  facts  in  this  obscure  beginning.  His  first  pub- 
lication appeared  in  1494,  and  it  was  in  1482  that  he  left 
Ferrara  to  take  shelter  in  the  house  of  the  Pii.  It  would 
seem  probable  that  he  reached  Venice  soon  after  the  later 
date,  since,  in  his  applications  to  the  Senate  for  the  exclu- 
sive use  of  certain  forms  of  type,  he  describes  himself  as  for 
many  years  an  inhabitant  of  the  city.  Manni  concludes 
that  he  must  have  been  there  toward  1488,  or  rather  that  his 
preparations  for  the  establishment  of  his  Stamperia  origi- 
nated about  that  time.  He  did  not  however  begin  at 
once  with  this  project,  but  established  himself  in  Venice 
as  a  reader  or  lecturer  on  the  classical  tongues;  "  reading 
and  interpreting  in  public  for  the  benefit  of  the  noble  and 
studious  youth  of  the  city  the  most  renowned  Greek  and 
Latin  writers,  collating  and  correcting  those  manuscripts 
which  it  was  his  intention  to  print."  He  drew  around 
him,  while  engaged  in  this  course  of  literature,  all  that  was 
learned  in  Venice.  Senators,  students,  priests,  whoever 
loved  learning,  were  attracted  by  his  already  well-known 
fame  as  a  fine  scholar,  and  by  the  report  of  the  still 
greater  undertaking  on  which  he  was  bent  when  a  favor- 
able moment  should  arise.  No  doubt  Aldo  had  been 
furnished  by  his  patrons  with  the  best  of  introductions, 
and  friends  and  brethren  flocked  about  him,  so  many  that 
they  formed  themselves  into  a  distinct  society — the 
Neacademia  of  Aldo — a  collection  of  eager  scholars  all 
ready  to  help,  all  conscious  of  the  great  need,  and  what 
we  should  call  in  modern  parlance  the  wonderful  opening 
for  a  great  and  successful  effort.  Sabellico,  the  learned 
and  eloquent  historian,  with  whose  new  work  Venice  was 
ringing;  Sanudo,  our  beloved  chronicler,  then  beginning 
his  life-long  work;  Bembo,  the  future  cardinal,  already 
one  of  the  fashionable  semi-priests  of  society,  holding  a 
canonicate;  the  future  historian  who  wrote  no  history, 
Andrea  Navagero,  but  he  in  his  very  earliest  youth; 
another  cardinal,  Leandro,  then  a  barefooted  friar;  all 
crowded  about  the  new  classical  teacher.  The  enthu- 
siasm with  which  he  was  received  seems  to  have  exceeded 
even  the  ordinary  welcome  accorded  in  that  age  of 
literary  freemasonry  to  every  man  who  had  any  new  light 


334  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

to  throw  upon  the  problems  of  knowledge.  And  while 
he  expounded  and  instructed,  the  work  of  preparation 
for  still  more  important  labors  went  on.  It  is  evident 
that  he  made  himself  fully  known,  and  even  became  an 
object  of  general  curiosity;  one  of  the  personages  to  be 
visited  by  all  that  were  on  the  surface  of  Venetian  society, 
and  that  the  whole  of  Venice  was  interested  and  enter- 
tained by  the  idea  of  the  new  undertaking.  Foreign 
printers  had  already  made  Venice  the  scene  of  their 
operations,  the  Englishman  Jenson  and  the  Teutons 
from  Spires  having  begun  twenty  or  thirty  years  before 
to  print  Venezia  on  the  title-pages  of  their  less  ambitious 
volumes.  But  Aldo  was  no  mere  printer,  nor  was  his 
work  for  profit  alone.  It  was  a  labor  of  love,  an  enter- 
prise of  the  highest  public  importance,  and  as  such  com- 
mended itself  to  all  who  cared  for  education  or  the 
humanities,  or  who  had  any  desire  to  be  considered  as 
members  or  disciples  of  that  highest  and  most  cultured 
class  of  men  of  letters,  who  were  the  pride  and  glory  of 
the  age. 

The  house  of  Aldus  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  corner  of 
the  Campo  di  San  Agostino,  not  far  from  the  beautiful 
Scuola  di  S.  Giovanni  Evangelista,  which  every  stranger 
visits.  It  was  a  spot  already  remarkable  in  the  history 
of  Venice,  though  the  ruins  of  the  house  of  that  great 
Cavaliere,  Bajamonte  Tiepole,  must  have  disappeared 
before  Aldus  brought  his  peaceful  trade  to  this  retired 
and  quiet  place — far  enough  off  from  the  centers  of 
Venetian  life  to  be  left  in  peace,  one  would  have  thought. 
But  that  this  was  not  the  case,  and  that  his  house  was 
already  a  great  center  of  common  interest,  is  evident 
from  one  of  the  dedicatory  epistles  to  an  early  work 
addressed  to  Andrea  Navagero,  in  which  Aldus  complains 
with  humorous  seriousness  of  the  many  interruptions 
from  troublesome  visitors  or  correspondents  to  which  he 
was  subject.  Letters  from  learned  men,  he  says,  arrive 
in  such  multitudes  that,  were  he  to  answer  them  all,  it 
would  occupy  him  night  and  day.  Still  more  importunate 
were  those  who  came  to  see  him,  to  inquire  into  his  work: 

Some  from  friendship,  some  from  interest,  the  greater  part  because 
they  have  nothing  to  do — for  then  "  Let  us  go,"  they  say,  "  to  Aldo's." 
They  come  in  crowds  and  sit  gaping  : 

"  Non  missura  cutem,  nisi  plena  cruoris  hirudo." 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  335 

I  do  not  speak  of  those  who  come  to  read  to  me  either  poems  or  prose, 
generally  rough  and  unpolished,  for  publication,  for  I  defend  myself 
from  these  by  giving  no  answer  or  else  a  very  brief  one,  which  I  hope 
nobody  will  take  in  ill  part,  since  it  is  done,  not  from  pride  or  scorn,  but 
because  all  my  leisure  is  taken  up  in  printing  books  of  established  fame. 
As  for  those  who  come  for  no  reason,  we  make  bold  to  admonish  them  in 
classical  words  in  a  sort  of  edict  placed  over  our  door  :  "  WHOEVER  YOU 
ARE,  Aldo  requests  you,  if  you  want  anything,  ask  it  in  few  words  and 
depart,  unless,  like  Hercules,  you  come  to  lend  the  aid  of  your  shoulders 
to  the  weary  Atlas.  Here  will  always  be  found  in  that  case  something 
for  you  to  do,  however  many  you  may  be." 

This  affords  us  a  whimsical  picture  of  one  of  the  com- 
monest grievances  of  busy  persons,  especially  in  lit- 
erature. No  doubt  the  idlers  who  said  to  each  other 
"Let  us  go  to  Aide's"  considered  themselves  to  be 
showing  honor  to  literature,  as  well  as  establishing  their 
own  right  to  consideration,  when  they  went  all  that  long 
way  from  the  gayeties  of  the  Piazza  or  the  lively  bottegas 
and  animation  of  the  Rialto  to  the  busy  workshops  in 
that  retired  and  distant  Campo,  where  it  might  be  their 
fortune  to  rub  shoulders  with  young  Bembo  steeped  in 
Greek,  or  get  into  the  way  of  Sanudo,  or  be  told  sharply 
to  ask  no  questions  by  Aldo  himself;  let  us  hope  they 
were  eventually  frightened  off  by  the  writing  over  the 
door.  The  suggestion,  however,  that  they  should  help  in 
the  work  was  no  form  of  speech,  for  Aide's  companions 
and  friends  not  only  surrounded  him  with  sympathy  and 
intelligent  encouragement,  but  diligently  worked  with 
him;  giving  him  the  benefit  of  their  varied  studies  and 
critical  experience — collating  manuscripts  and  revising 
proofs  with  a  patience  and  continuous  labor  of  which  the 
modern  printer,  even  in  face  of  the  most  illegible  "  copy," 
could  form  no  idea.  For  the  manuscripts  from  which 
they  printed  were  in  almost  all  instances  incorrect  and 
often  imperfect,  and  to  develop  a  pure  text  from  the 
careless  or  fragmentary  transcripts  which  had  perhaps 
come  mechanically  through  the  hands  of  ignorant  scribes 
— taking  from  each  what  was  best,  and  filling  up  the 
gaps — was  a  work  which  required  great  caution  and 
patience,  as  well  as  intelligence  and  some  critical  power. 

The  first  work  published  by  Aldus,  true  to  his  original 
purpose,  was  the  Greek  grammar  of  Constantine  Lascaris, 
conveyed  to  him,  as  he  states  in  his  preface,  by  Bembo 
and  another  young  man  of  family  and  culture,  "now 


336  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

studying  at  Padua."  Bembo,  it  is  well  known,  had  spent 
several  years  in  Sicily  with  Lascaris  studying  Greek,  so 
that  it  would  seem  natural  that  he  should  be  the  means 
of  communication  between  the  author  and  publisher. 
This  is  the  first  work  with  a  date,  according  to  the  care- 
ful Renouard,  which  came  from  the  new  press.  A  small 
volume  of  poetry,  but  without  date,  the  "  Musaeus,"  com- 
petes with  this  book  for  the  honor  of  being  the  first  pub- 
lished by  Aldus;  but  it  would  not  seem  very  easy  to 
settle  the  question,  and  the  reader  will  not  expect  any 
bibliographical  details  in  this  place.  The  work  went  on 
slowly;  the  first  two  years  producing  only  five  books,  one 
of  which  was  Aristotle — the  first  edition  ever  attempted 
in  the  original  Greek.  In  this  great  undertaking  Aldus 
had  the  assistance  of  two  editors,  Alexander  Bondino 
and  Scipione  Fortiguerra,  scholars  well  known  in  their 
time,  one  calling  himself  Agathemeron,  the  other  Cartero- 
maco,  according  to  their  fantastic  fashion,  and  both  now 
entirely  unknown  by  either  appellation.  It  was  dedicated 
to  Alberto  Pio  of  Carpi,  the  young  prince  with  whom 
and  whose  training  the  new  enterprise  was  so  much  con- 
nected. It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  publishing  of  this 
elaborate  kind,  so  slow,  so  elaborately  revised,  so  difficult 
to  produce,  could  have  paid  even  its  own  expenses,  at 
least  at  the  beginning.  It  is  true  that  the  printer  had  a 
monopoly  of  the  Greek,  which  he  was  the  first  to  intro- 
duce to  the  world.  No  competing  editions  pressed  his 
Aristotle;  he  had  the  limited  yet  tolerably  extensive 
market — for  this  new  and  splendid  work  would  be 
emphatically,  in  the  climax  of  Renaissance  enthusiasm 
and  ambition,  one  which  no  prince  who  respected  him- 
self, no  cardinal  given  to  letters,  or  noble  dilettante 
could  be  content  without — in  his  own  hands.  And  the 
poor  scholars  who  worked  in  his  studio,  some  of  them 
lodging  under  his  roof,  with  instancabili  confronti  de'  codici 
mtgliori,  collation  of  innumerable  manuscripts  according 
to  the  careful  "judgment  of  the  best  men  in  the  city, 
accomplished  not  only  in  both  the  classical  languages 
but  in  the  soundest  erudition  " — would  probably  have 
but  small  pay  for  their  laborious  toils.  But  under  the 
most  favorable  circumstances  the  aid  of  his  wealthy 
patrons  was,  no  doubt,  indispensable  to  Aldo  in  the 
beginning  of  his  career. 


3HT 


MAKERS  OF 

Bembo,  it  is  well  knov. 

ii  Lascaris  studying  Greek,  so 
seem  natural  that  he  should  be  the  means 
••:    between  the   author  and   publisher, 
with  a  date,  according  to  the  care- 
ioh  came  from  the  new  press.     A  small 
try,  but  without  date,  the  "Musaeus, "corn- 
is  book  for  the  honor  of  being  the  first  pub- 
Uis;    but  it  would   not  seem  very  easy  to 
the  question,  and  the  reader  will  not  expect  any 
Dibliographical  details  in  this  place.     The  work  went  on 
slowly;  the  first  two  years  producing  only  five  books,  one 
of  which  was  Aristotle — the  first  edition  ever  attempted 
in  the  original  Greek.     In  this  great  undertaking  Aldus 
had  the  assistance  of  tvr  nder  Bondino 

and  Scipione  Fortigu-:  --,  well  known  in  their 

time,  one  calling  himsc  ;  Cartero- 

maco,  ac  to  their  t<,  .md  both  now 

entirely  u  itherapp;  . ;  was  dedicated 

to  A  tog;  p,AZETTA(  DUCAL  PALACE,  SAN  MARcdth  whom 
and  wnose  training  the  ne.  Much  con- 

nected.    It  is  not  to  be  suppo^  ig  of  this 

elaborate  kind,  so  slow,  so  tjvised,  so  difficult 

to  produce,  could  have  p--.-.  Menses,  at 

least  at  the  beginning.     It  is  t:  ':ad  a 

-  of  the  Greek,  w! 
duce  to  the  world.     No  comp<  - 
Aristotle;    he   had  the  limite*: 

this    new   and    spit  ;k    would    be 

cmph  in  the  climax  of  Renaissatv 

rion,  one  which  no  prince  who  respected  him- 
no   cardinal   given   to   letters,   or  noble  dilettante 
could  be  content  without — in  his  own  hands.     And  the 
poor  worked  in  his  studio,  some  of  them 

lodgiu  his  roof,  with  instancabili  confronti  dc*  codici 

of  innumerable  manuscripts  according 
to  the  ca  adgment  of  the  best  men  in  the  city, 

accomplis  both  the  classical  languages 

but  in  thr  :>tion" — would  probably  have 

but  small  pa>  'borious  toils.     But  under  the 

mpst   favorable   cii  -   the   aid   of   his   wealthy 

patrons   was,  no  pensable  to    Aldo   in   the 

beginning  of  his 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  337 

Nor  was  the  costly  work  of  editing  his  only  expense. 
From  the  time  when  the  scholar  took  up  the  new  trade 
of  printer,  it  is  evident  that  a  new  ambition  rose  within 
him;  not  only  the  best  text,  but  the  best  type  occupied 
his  mind.  The  Lascaris,  Renouard  tells  us,  was  printed 
in  "  caractere  Latin  un  peu  bizarre  " — of  which  scarcely  any 
further  use  was  made.  For  some  time  indeed  each  suc- 
cessive volume  would  seem  to  have  been  printed  in 
another  and  another  form  of  type,  successive  essays  to 
find  the  best;  which  is  another  proof  of  the  anxiety  of 
Aldus  that  his  work  should  be  perfect.  Not  content 
with  the  ordinary  Roman  character  with  which  Jenson  in 
Venice  and  the  other  printers  had  already  found  relief 
from  the  ponderous  dignity  of  the  Black  Letter,  he  set 
himself  to  invent  a  new  type.  The  tradition  is  that  the 
elegant  handwriting  of  Petrarch,  so  fine  and  clear,  was 
the  model  chosen  for  this  invention,  which  was  received 
with  enthusiasm  at  the  moment.  It  was  founded  by 
Francesco  of  Bologna,  and  called  at  first  Aldino,  after 
its  inventor,  and  then  Italic.  No  one  who  knows  or 
possesses  books  in  this  graceful  and  beautiful  type  will 
doubt  that  it  is  the  prettiest  of  all  print;  but  after  a 
little  study  of  these  beautiful  pages,  without  the  break  of 
relief  or  a  single  paragraph,  all  flowing  on  line  after  line-, 
the  reader  will  probably  succumb  half  blinded  and  wholly 
confused,  and  return  with  pleasure  to  the  honest  every- 
day letters,  round  and  simple,  of  the  Roman  type.  A 
copy  of  the  "Cortigiano,"  one  of  the  best  known  of 
old  Italian  books,  lies  before  us  at  this  moment,  with 
the  delicate  Aldine  mark,  the  anchor  and  dolphin,  on  the 
title-page.  Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate  to  the 
long,  unending  dialogue  and  delightful,  artificial  flow  of 
superfine  sentiment  and  courtly  talk,  than  the  charming 
minute  and  graceful  run  of  the  letters,  corsivo,  like  a 
piece  of  the  most  beautiful  penmanship.  No  reader  could 
possibly  wish  to  read  the  "Cortigiano"  straight  through, 
at  one  or  a  dozen  readings;  but  were  the  subject  one  of 
livelier  interest,  or  its  appeal  to  the  heart  or  intellect  a 
deeper  one,  the  head  would  soon  ache  and  the  eyes  swim 
over  those  delightful  pages.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  inven- 
tion Aldus  himself  describes  his  new  type  as  "of  the 
greatest  beauty,  such  as  was  never  done  before,"  and 
appeals  to  the  Signoria  of  Venice  to  secure  to  him  for 


338  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

ten  years  the  sole  right  to  use  it — kindly  indicating  to 
the  authorities,  at  the  same  time,  the  penalty  which  he 
would  like  to  see  attached  to  any  breach  of  the  privilege. 

I  supplicate  that  for  ten  years  no  other  should  be  allowed  to  print  in 
cursive  letters  of  any  sort  in  the  dominion  of  your  Serenity,  nor  to  sell 
books  printed  in  other  countries  in  any  part  of  the  said  dominion,  under 
pain  to  whoever  breaks  this  law  of  forfeiting  the  books  and  paying  a 
fine  of  two  hundred  ducats  for  each  offense  ;  which  fine  shall  be  divided 
into  three  parts,  one  for  the  officer  who  shall  convict,  another  for  the 
Pieth,  the  third  for  the  informer  ;  and  that  the  accusation  be  made  before 
any  officer  of  this  most  excellent  city  before  whom  the  informer  may 
appear. 

Aldus  secured  his  privilege  from  a  committee  (if  we 
may  use  so  modern  a  word)  of  councilors,  among  whom 
is  found  the  name  of  a  Sanudo,  cousin  of  our  Marino, 
who  himself,  according  to  a  note  in  his  diary,  seems  to 
have  prepared  the  necessary  decree.  But  the  essential 
over-delicacy  of  the  type  was  its  destruction.  It  con- 
tinued in  use  for  a  number  of  years,  during  which  many 
books  were  printed  in  it:  but  after  that  period  dropped 
into  the  occasional  usage  for  emphasis  or  distinction 
which  we  still  retain — though  our  modern  Italics,  no 
doubt  the  natural  successors  and  descendants  of  the 
invention  of  Aldus,  are  much  more  commonplace  and  not 
nearly  so  beautiful. 

It  is  pretty  to  know,  however,  that  the  first  Italian  book 
published  in  this  romantic  and  charming  form  was  the 
poems  of  Petrarch,  "  Le  Cose  Volgari  di  Messer  Franceso 
Petrarcha,"  edited  with  great  care  by  Bembo,  "who," 
writes  a  gentleman  of  Pavia  to  the  illustrious  lady,  Isa- 
bella, Duchess  of  Mantua,  "  has  printed  the  Petrarch  from 
a  copy  of  the  verses  written  in  Petrarch's  own  hand, 
which  I  have  held  in  mine,  and  which  belongs  to  a 
Paduan.  It  is  esteemed  so  much  that  it  has  been  fol- 
lowed letter  by  letter  in  the  printing,  with  the  greatest 
diligence."  The  book  is  described  on  the  title-page  as 
"  taken  from  the  handwriting  of  the  Poet,"  and  not  only 
the  year  but  the  month  of  the  date,  July,  1501,  carefully 
given.  Renouard  tells  a  charming  story  of  a  copy  he 
had  seen,  inscribed  from  one  fond  possessor  to  another, 
through  three  or  four  inheritances,  avec  une  sorte  d'idola- 
trie,  and  which  contained  at  the  end  a  sonnet  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Pietro  Bembo: 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  339 

"  Se  come  qui  la  fronte  onesta  e  grave 
Del  sacro  almo  Poeta 
Che  d'un  bel  Lauro  colse  eterna  palms. 
Cosi  vedessi  ancor  lo  spirto  e  1'alma  : 
Stella  si  chiara  e  lieta, 
Diresti,  certo  il  ciel  tutto  non  ave. 

"  Tu  che  vieni  a  mirar  1'onesta  e  grave 
Sembianza  dei  divin  nostro  Poeta, 
Pensa,  s'in  questa  il  tuo  desio  s'acqueta, 
Quanto  fu  il  veder  lui  dolce  e  soave. 

Lorenzo  of  Pavia  (the  same  man  apparently  who  visited 
Carpaccio  on  behalf  of  Gonzaga,  the  husband  of  Isabella, 
and  saw  that  painter's  picture  of  Jerusalem)  secured  a 
copy  of  this  true  amateur's  book,  printed  with  such  love 
and  care  "on  good  paper,  very  clear  and  white  and  equal, 
not  thick  in  one  part  and  thin  in  another,  as  are  so  many 
of  those  you  have  in  Mantua,"  as  a  "rare  thing,  which, 
like  your  Ladyship,  has  no  paragon,"  for  Duchess 
Isabella. 

After  this  fine  beginning,  however,  there  followed 
darker  days.  In  1506  Aldus  had  to  leave  Venice  to  look 
after  properties  lost  or  in  danger;  a  troubled  enterprise 
which  he  sweetened  as  he  could  by  his  usual  search  after 
manuscripts  and  classical  information.  In  the  month  of 
July  of  that  year  an  accident  happened  to  him  which 
affords  us  an  interesting  glimpse  of  the  scholar-publisher. 
He  was  riding  along  with  his  servant,  who  was  a  Mantuan, 
but  under  sentence  of  banishment  from  the  princedom, 
returning  to  Asola,  where  his  family  were,  from  a  pro- 
longed journey  through  Lombardy.  The  pair  rode  along 
quietly  enough,  though  there  were  fightings  going  on 
round  about — in  short  stages,  ever  ready  to  turn  aside 
to  convent  or  castle  where  codexes  might  be  found,  or 
where  there  was  some  learned  chaplain  or  studious  friar 
who  had  opinions  on  the  subject  of  Aristotle  or  Vergil  to 
be  consulted — when  suddenly,  as  they  crossed  the  Man- 
tuan frontier,  the  guards,  who  had  been  set  to  watch  for 
certain  suspected  persons,  started  forth  to  seize  the 
passengers.  The  servant,  terrified,  fled,  thinking  that 
he  was  the  object  of  their  suspicions,  and  his  master  was 
seized  and  made  prisoner,  his  precious  papers  taken 
from  him,  and  himself  shut  up  in  the  house  of  the  official 
who  had  arrested  him.  Aldus  immediately  wrote  to  the 


34°  THE   MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

Prince  of  Mantua,  himself  an  amateur  of  the  arts,  stating 
his  hard  case.  His  servant's  foolish  flight  had  aroused 
all  manner  of  suspicions,  and  perhaps  the  old  manuscripts 
which  formed  his  baggage  strengthened  the  doubts  with 
which  he  was  regarded.  He  writes  thus  with  modest 
dignity,  explaining  his  position: 

I  am  Aldo  Manutio  Romano,  privileged  to  call  myself  of  the  family 
of  the  Pii  by  my  patron  Alberto  of  Carpi,  who  is  the  son-in-law  of 
your  illustrious  Highness — and  am  and  have  always  been  your  humble 
servant,  as  is  my  lord  whom  I  naturally  follow.  At  present,  in  conse- 
quence of  my  undertaking  as  a  printer  of  books,  I  dwell  in  Venice. 
Desiring  to  print  the  works  of  Vergil,  which  hitherto  have  been  very 
imperfectly  rendered,  correctly  and  according  to  the  best  texts,  I  have 
sought  through  all  Italy  and  beyond  ;  and  in  person  I  have  gone  over 
almost  all  Lombardy  to  look  for  any  manuscripts  of  these  works  that 
may  be  found.  On  my  way  back  to  Venice,  passing  by  your  Highness' 
villa  at  Casa  Romana,  and  having  with  me  Federico  de  Ceresara,  my 
servant,  who  is  a  native  of  and  banished  from  these  parts,  he  took 
fright  when  your  Highness'  guards  seized  his  bridle,  and,  striking  his 
horse  with  his  feet,  fled  outside  the  boundaries  of  your  Highness'  terri- 
tory. Having  got  to  the  other  side  of  the  frontier  he  sent  back  his 
horse  ;  for  which  cause  I  am  detained  here  with  my  horses  and  goods, 
both  those  which  my  servant  carried  and  those  which  I  myself  had. 
And  this  is  the  third  day  that  I  am  detained  here,  to  the  great  injury  of 
my  business,  and  I  entreat  your  Highness  to  be  pleased  to  command 
Messer  Joanpetro  Moraro,  in  whose  house  I  am,  to  permit  me  to  pro- 
ceed upon  my  journey,  and  to  restore  to  me  my  horses  and  my  goods. 
As  I  am  illustrating  the  works  of  Vergil,  who  was  a  Mantuan,  it  appears 
to  me  that  I  do  not  deserve  evil  treatment  in  Mantua,  but  rather  to  be 
protected. 

Two  days  after  Aldus  was  compelled  to  write  again, 
having  received  no  answer;  but  on  the  25th  of  July,  when 
his  detention  had  lasted  a  week,  he  was  liberated  with 
Gonzaga's  apologies  and  excuses.  He  did  not  like  the 
incident,  complaining  bitterly  of  the  shame  of  being 
incarcerated;  but  it  forms  an  interesting  illustration  in 
history  to  see  him,  with  all  his  precious  papers  in  his 
saddle-bags,  and  his  consciousness  of  a  name  as  well 
known  as  their  master's,  answering  the  interrogatories 
of  the  guards,  appealing  to  the  prince,  who  could  not 
mistake,  though  these  ignorant  men-at-arms  might  do  so, 
who  Aldo  Manutio  was. 

Among  the  various  assistants  whom  Aldus  employed 
during  these  first  busy  years,  and  whom  his  biographer, 
Manni,  calls  correttori  della  Stamperia,  figured,  among 
others,  a  man  more  illustrious  than  any  yet  mentioned — 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  34! 

Erasmus  of  Rotterdam,  uomo  d'ampia  e  spaziosa  fama.  It 
is  said  that  Erasmus  wrote  from  Bologna  to  propose  for 
publication  his  collection  of  "  Adages,"  a  proposal  which 
was  received  eagerly  by  Aldus;  but  when  the  philosopher 
came  to  Venice,  he  shared  at  first  the  fate  of  those 
unfortunates  who  were  warned  by  the  placard  over  the 
door  of  the  Stamperia  to  state  their  business  quickly  and 
be  gone.  When  Aldus  knew,  however,  who  his  visitor 
was,  he  hurried  from  his  workshop  and  his  proofs  to 
receive  with  honor  a  guest  so  welcome.  The  Dutchman 
would  seem  to  have  entered  his  house  at  once  as  one  of 
his  recognized  assistants.  The  famous  Scaliger,  in  a 
philippic  directed  against  Erasmus,  declares  that,  when 
he  found  refuge  there,  he  ate  for  three  and  drank  for 
many  without  doing  the  work  of  one;  but  such  amenities 
are  not  unknown  among  scholars  any  more  than  among 
the  ignorant.  Perhaps  the  heavier  Teuton  always  seems 
to  exceed  in  these  respects  amid  the  spare  living  and 
abstemious  sobriety  of  Italians.  Erasmus  himself  al- 
lows that  after  the  publication  of  his  "Proverbs"  he  had 
worked  with  Aldus  on  the  comedies  of  Terence  and 
Plautus  and  the  tragedies  of  Seneca — not  the  loftiest 
perhaps,  of  classical  works — "in  which,"  he  says,  "I 
think  that  I  have  happily  restored  some  passages  with 
the  support  of  ancient  manuscripts.  We  left  them  with 
Aldus,"  he  adds,  "leaving  to  his  judgment  the  question 
of  publication."  This  work  never  seems  to  have  been 
published  by  the  elder  Aldus,  so  that  perhaps  Erasmus' 
indignant  denial  afterward  of  ever  having  done  any 
work  of  correction,  except  upon  his  own  book,  may  after 
all  be  reconcilable  with  the  above  statements. 

The  busy  house  on  its  quiet  Campo,  with  all  the  bustle 
of  Venice  distant — not  even  the  measured  beat  of  the 
oars  on  the  canal,  most  familiar  of  sounds,  to  disturb  the 
retired  and  tranquil  square;  but  all  the  hum  of  incessant 
work  within,  the  scholars  withdrawn  in  silent  chambers 
out  of  the  way  of  the  printing  presses,  poring  over  their 
manuscripts,  straining  after  a  better  reading,  a  corrected 
phrase,  with  proofs  sent  from  one  to  another,  and  the 
master  most  busy  of  all,  giving  his  attention  now  to  a 
new  form,  now  to  an  old  manuscript — how  strange  a  con- 
trast it  offers  to  the  gay  and  animated  life,  the  intrigues, 
the  struggles,  the  emulations,  outside!  No  doubt  the 


342  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

Stamperia  had  its  conflict  too.  Ser  Marino,  stepping 
round  in  his  senator's  robes  from  the  Ca'  Sanudo  not  far 
off,  would  not  meet  perhaps  without  a  gibe  the  youngster 
Navagero,  who  had  been  named  to  the  post  of  historian 
over  his  head;  nor  could  the  poor  Italian  scholars  refrain 
from  remarks  upon  the  big  appetite  and  slow  movements 
of  that  Dutch  Erasmus,  whose  reputation  has  proved  so 
much  more  stable  than  their  own.  But  these  jealousies 
are  small  in  comparison  with  the  struggles  of  the  council 
chamber,  the  secret  tribunals,  the  betrayals,  the  feuds 
and  frays  that  went  on  everywhere  around  them.  When 
the  Neacademia  met  upon  its  appointed  days,  and  the 
learned  heads  were  laid  together,  and  the  talk  was  all  of 
Vergil  and  Ovid,  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  how  full  of  an 
inspiring  sense  of  virtue  and  work  that  was  for  the  world 
was  that  grave  assembly!  When  Aldus  wrote  his  preface 
to  the  grammar  of  Lascaris,  which  was  his  first  publica- 
tion, he  declares  himself  to  have  determined  to  devote 
his  life  to  the  good  of  mankind,  for  which  great  end, 
though  he  might  live  a  life  much  more  congenial  to  him 
in  retirement,  he  had  chosen  a  laborious  career.  They 
were  all  inspired  with  the  same  spirit,  and  toiled  over 
obscure  readings  and  much-corrected  proofs  with  the 
zeal  of  missionaries,  bringing  new  life  and  light  to  the 
dark  place.  "  Everything  is  good  in  these  books,"  says 
the  French  critic  Renouard.  "  Not  only  for  their  literary 
merit,  most  of  them  being  the  greatest  of  human  works, 
but  also  in  the  point  of  view  of  typographical  excellence, 
they  are  unsurpassed."  Neither  rival  nor  imitator  has 
reached  the  same  height — even  his  sons  and  successors, 
though  with  the  aid  of  continually  improving  processes, 
never  attained  the  excellence  of  Aldo  //  Vecchio,  the 
scholar-printer,  the  first  to  devote  himself  to  the  produc- 
tion of  the  best  books  in  the  best  way;  not  as  a  mercan- 
tile speculation,  but  with  the  devout  intention  of  serving 
the  world's  best  interests,  as  well  as  following  his  own 
cherished  tastes  and  working  out  the  chosen  plan  of  his 
life. 

It  is  one  remarkable  sign  of  the  universal  depression 
and  misery  that  Aldus  and  his  studio  and  all  his  precious 
manuscripts  disappeared  during  the  troubled  years  of 
the  great  Continental  war  in  which  all  the  world  was 
against  Venice.  In  1510,  1511,  and  1512,  scarcely  any 


MEN    OF    LETTERS.  343 

book  proceeded  from  his  press.  The  painters  went  on 
with  their  work,  and  notwithstanding  the  misery  and  fear 
in  the  city  the  statesmen,  councilors,  all  public  officials, 
were  more  active  and  occupied  than  ever.  Had  Venice 
possessed  a  great  poet,  he  would  not  in  all  probability 
have  been  put  to  silence  even  by  the  terrible  and  unac- 
customed distant  roar  upon  the  mainland  of  the  guns. 
But  the  close  and  minute  labors  of  the  literary  corrector 
and  critic  were  not  compatible  with  these  horrible  dis- 
turbances. Even  in  the  height  of  the  Renaissance  men 
were  indifferent  to  fine  Latin  and  fine  Greek  and  the  most 
lovely  varieties  of  type  in  the  vehemence  of  a  national 
struggle  for  life. 

After  the  war  Aldus  returned  to  his  work  with  renewed 
fervor. 

It  is  difficult  [says  Renouard]  to  form  an  idea  of  the  passion  with 
which  he  devoted  himself  to  the  reproduction  of  the  great  works  of 
ancient  literature.  If  he  heard  of  the  existence  anywhere  of  a  manu- 
script unpublished,  or  which  could  throw  a  light  upon  an  existing  text, 
he  never  rested  till  he  had  it  in  his  possession.  He  did  not  shrink  from 
long  journeys,  great  expenditure,  applications  of  all  kinds  ;  and  he  had 
also  the  satisfaction  to  see  that  on  all  sides  people  bestirred  themselves 
to  help  him,  communicating  to  him,  some  freely,  some  for  money,  an 
innumerable  amount  of  precious  manuscripts  for  the  advantage  of  his 
work.  Some  were  even  sent  to  him  from  very  distant  countries,  from 
Poland  and  Hungary,  without  any  solicitation  on  his  part. 

It  is  not  in  this  way,  however,  that  the  publisher,  that 
much-questioned  and  severely  criticised  middleman, 
makes  a  fortune.  And  Aldus  died  poor.  His  privileges  did 
not  stand  him  in  much  stead;  copyright,  especially,  when 
not  in  books  but  in  new  forms  of  type,  being  non-exist- 
ent in  his  day.  In  France  and  Germany,  and  still  nearer 
home,  his  beautiful  Italic  was  robbed  from  him,  copied 
on  all  sides;  notwithstanding  the  protection  granted 
by  the  Pope  and  other  princes,  as  well  as  by  the  Vene- 
tian Signoria.  His  fine  editions  were  printed  from  and 
made  the  foundation  of  foreign  issues  which  replaced  his 
own.  How  far  his  princely  patrons  stood  by  him  to  re- 
pair his  losses  there  seems  no  information.  His  father- 
in-law,  Andrea  of  Asola,  a  printer  who  was  not  so  fine 
a  scholar,  but  perhaps  more  able  to  cope  with  the  world, 
did  come  to  his  aid,  and  his  son  Paolo  Manutio,  and  his 
grandson  Aldo  //  Giovane,  as  he  is  called,  succeeded  him 


344  THE    MAKERS   OF    VENICE. 

in  turn;  the  first  with  kindred  ambition  and  aim  at 
excellence,  the  latter  perhaps  with  aims  not  quite  so 
high.  We  cannot  further  follow  the  fortunes  of  the 
family,  nor  of  the  highly  cultured  society  of  which  their 
workshops  formed  the  center.  Let  us  leave  Aldo  with 
all  his  aids  about  him,  the  senators,  the  schoolmasters, 
the  poor  scholars,  the  learned  men  who  were  to  live  to 
be  cardinals,  and  those  who  were  to  die  as  poor  as  they 
were  famous;  and  his  learned  Greek  Musurus,  and 
his  poor  student  from  Rotterdam,  a  better  scholar 
perhaps  than  any  of  them — and  all  his  idle  visitors 
coming  to  gape  and  admire,  while  our  Sanudo  swept 
round  the  corner  from  S.  Giacomo  dell'  Orio,  with  his 
vigorous  step  and  his  toga  over  his  shoulders,  and  the 
young  men  who  were  of  the  younger  faction  came  in,  a 
little  contemptuous  of  their  elders  and  strong  in  their 
own  learning,  to  the  meeting  of  the  Aldine  academy  and 
the  consultation  on  new  readings.  The  Stamperiawas  as 
distinct  a  center  of  life  as  the  "Piazza.,  though  not  so 
apparent  before  the  eyes  of  men. 

Literature  ran  into  a  hundred  more  or  less  artificial 
channels  in  the  Venice  of  the  later  centuries;  it  produced 
countless  works  upon  the  antiquities  of  the  city,  often 
more  valuable  than  interesting;  it  brightened  into  the 
laughter,  the  quips  and  quirks  of  Goldoni;  it  produced 
charming  verses,  pastorals,  descriptions  of  pageants  and 
feasts;  but  never  has  risen  into  any  of  the  splendor 
which  is  the  dower  of  the  neighbor  republic,  the  proud 
and  grave  Tuscan  city.  The  finest  of  literary  memories 
for  Venice  is  that  of  the  Aldine  Stamperia,  where  for  once 
there  was  a  printer-publisher  who  toiled  and  spent  his  life 
to  fill  the  world  with  beautiful  books,  and  hold  open  to  all 
men  the  gates  of  learning — "all  for  love  and  nothing  for 
reward." 

I  had  hoped  to  have  introduced  as  the  last  in  this  little 
gallery  of  Venetians  a  personage  more  grave  and  great,  a 
figure  unique  in  the  midst  of  this  ever-animated,  strong, 
stormy,  and  restless  race.  He  should  have  stood  in  his 
monastic  robe,  the  Theologian  of  Venice;  he  too,  like 
every  other  of  her  sons,  for  his  city  against  every  power, 
even  those  of  Church  and  Pope.  But  Fra  Paolo  is  too 
great  to  come  in  at  the  end  without  due  space  and 
perspective  about  him.  The  priest  who  forestalled  with 


MEN   OF    LETTERS.  345 

his  quick-flashing  genius  half  the  discoveries  of  his  time; 
who  guessed  what  it  meant  when  the  golden  lamp  with 
its  red  glimmer  swayed  as  it  hung  in  the  splendid  gloom 
of  San  Marco,  before  ever  Galileo  had  put  that  heresy 
forth;  who  divined  how  the  blood  made  its  way  through 
our  veins  before  Harvey;  who  could  plan  a  palace  and 
sway  a  senate,  as  well  as  defy  a  Pope ;  who  was  adored 
by  his  order  and  worshiped  by  his  city,  yet  almost 
murdered  at  his  own  door,  is  perhaps  of  all  Venetians 
the  one  most  worthy  of  study  and  elucidation.  It  is 
only  natural,  according  to  the  common  course  of  human 
events,  that  he  should  therefore  be  left  out.  The  con- 
vent of  Fra  Paolo  lies  in  ruins;  his  grave,  just  over  the 
threshold  of  that  funereal  place,  is  shown  with  a  grudge 
by  the  friar  at  San  Michele,  who  probably  knows  little  of 
him  save  that  he  was  in  opposition  to  the  Holy  See.  To 
us  at  the  present  moment,  as  to  so  many  in  his  city,  Fra 
Paolo  must  continue  to  be  only  a  name. 

The  critics  of  recent  days  have  had  much  to  say  as  to 
the  deterioration  of  Venice  in  her  new  activity,  and  the 
introduction  of  alien  modernisms  in  the  shape  of  steam- 
boats and  other  new  industrial  agents  into  her  canals  and 
lagoons.  But  in  this  adoption  of  every  new  development 
of  power  Venice  is  only  proving  herself  the  most  faithful 
representative  of  the  vigorous  republic  of  old.  Whatever 
prejudice  or  even  angry  love  may  say,  we  cannot  doubt 
that  the  Michiels,  the  Dandolos,  the  Foscari,  the  great 
rulers  who  formed  Venice,  had  steamboats  existed  in 
their  day — serving  their  purpose  better  than  their  barges 
and  peati — would  have  adopted  them  without  hesitation, 
without  a  thought  of  what  any  critics  might  say.  The 
wonderful  new  impulse  which  has  made  Italy  a  great 
power  has  justly  put  strength  and  life  before  those 
old  traditions  of  beauty  which  made  her  not  only  the 
"woman-country"  of  Europe,  but  a  sort  of  odalisque 
trading  upon  her  charms  rather  than  the  nursing  mother 
of  a  noble  and  independent  nation.  That  in  her  recoil 
from  that  somewhat  degrading  position  she  may  here 
and  there  have  proved  too  regardless  of  the  claims  of 
antiquity,  we  need  not  attempt  to  deny;  the  new  spring 
of  life  in  her  is  too  genuine  and  great  to  keep  her  entirely 
free  from  this  evident  danger.  But  it  is  strange  that  any- 


346  THE    MAKERS    OF    VENICE. 

one  who  loves  Italy,  and  sincerely  rejoices  in  her  amazing 
resurrection,  should  fail  to  recognize  how  venial  is  this 
fault. 

And  we  are  glad  to  think  that  the  present  Venetians 
have  in  no  respect  failed  from  the  love  entertained  by 
their  forefathers  for  their  beautiful  city.  The  young 
poet  of  the  lagoons,  whose  little  sonnet  I  have  placed  on 
the  title-page  of  this  book,  blesses  in  his  enthusiasm  not 
only  his  Venice  and  her  beautiful  things,  but  in  a  fervor 
at  which  we  smile,  yet  understand,  the  sirocco  which 
catches  her  breath,  and  the  hoarseness  which  comes  of 
her  acquaintance  with  the  seas.  But  he  and  his  fellow- 
townsmen  have  happily  learned  the  lesson  which  the 
great  Dandolo  could  not  learn  nor  Petrarch  teach,  that 
Venice,  glorious  in  her  strength  and  beauty,  is  but  a  por- 
tion of  a  more  glorious  ideal  still — of  Italy  for  the  first 
time  consolidated,  a  great  Power  in  Eurojoe  and  in  the 
world. 


THE   END. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


181983 

V  301983  10 


Series  9482 


i 


3   1205  00562  6278 


A     000  892  924     2 


